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IRVING'S BRACEBEIDGE HALL. 



PEOPLE'S EDITION. 



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BHACEBHIIBGE HALL 



BY WASHINGTON IRVING, 




&.P. PUTNAM'S SONS. 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 




GEOF 



" Under this cloud I walk, Geti*l*>tnen ; pardon my rude assault. 
I am a traveller, who, having sur^^tved most of the terrestrial angles 
of this globe, am hither arrived, to peruse this little spot." — Christ- 
BIAS Ordinary. 



THE AUTHOR'S REVISED EDITION. 



COMPI^TE IN ONE VOLUME. 



NEW tork: 
G. p. PUTNAM'S SONS, 

rOUBTH AVENUE AND TWENTY-THIRD STREET. 



iS'} U. 






Bntercd according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by 

GEORaE P. Putnam, 

to the Olerk^s Office of the District Court for the Southern Distrlof 

of New York 



Transfer 

Armv War College 

June 20 1933 



CONTENTS. 



♦— — 

*> PAGI 

The Author . . • .... 7 

The Hall . 14 

The Busy Man 18 

Family Servants . . . • • • . . 25 

The Widow 34 

The Lovers 39 

Family Relics 44 

An Old Soldier 51 

The Widow's Retinue 56 

Ready-Money Jack 61 

Bachelors • .69 

Wives 74 

Story-Telling . . ... • . . 82 
^HE Stout Gentleman ...... 84 

Forest Trees 99 

A Literary Antiquary 107 

The Farm-House 114 

Horsemanship ...•••.. 120 

Love Symptoms 126 

Falconry 130 

Hawking 136 

St. Mark's Eve ........ 144 

Gentility 156 

Fortune-Telling 161 

Love-Charms , . . .... 168 

The Library . 174 

The Student of Salamanca 177 

English Country Gentlemen 276 

A Bachelor's Confession ..... 286 
English Gravity 291 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAOB 

Gypsies . . . ... . . .299 

May-Day Customs 305 

VlLl AGE AVORTHIES . • • • • . 311 

The Schoolmastek .♦.•... 315 

The School . 322 

A Village Politicli.n ....... 32G 

The Rookery . 332 

May-Day 341 

The Manxtsoript ..•••.. 354 
Annette Delarbke ...•••• 357 

Travelling 387 

PoprLAR Superstitions 395 

The Culprit 406 

Family Misfortunes 415 

Lovers' Troubles . • • • . . . 420 
The Historian . . . . . • . . 427 

The Haunted House 430 

DoLPH Heyltger 435 

The Storm-Ship .487 

The Wedding 524 

Tws iiuTHOJt's Farewell. . • • • . 536 




THE AUTHOR. 




10RTHY READER: — On again taking 
pen in hand, I would fain make a few 
observations at the outset, by way of be- 
speaking a right understanding. The vol- 
umes which I have already published have met with 
a reception far beyond my most sanguine expecta- 
tions. I would willingly attribute this to their in- 
trinsic merits ; but, in spite of the vanity of author- 
ship, I cannot but be sensible that their success has, 
in a great measure, been owing to a less flattering 
cause. It has been a matter of marvel, to my Euro- 
pean readers, that a man from the wilds of America 
should express himself in tolerable English. I was 
looked upon as something new and strange in litera- 
ture ; a kind of demi-savage, with a feather in his 
hand instead of on his head ; and there was a curi- 
osity to hear what such a being had to say about 
civilized society. 

This novelty is now at an end, and of course the 
feeling of indulgence which it produced. I must 
now expect to bear the scrutiny of sterner criticisms, 
and to be measured by the same standard as con- 
temporary writers ; and the very favor shown to my 
previous writings will cause these to be treated with 
the greatest rigor, as there is nothing for which the 
world is apt to punish a man more severely than for 
having been over-praised On this head, therefore. 



8 THE AUTHOR. 

I wish to forestall the censoriousness of the reader ^ 
and I entreat he will not think the worse of me for 
the many injudicious things that may have been said 
in my commendation. 

I am aware that I often travel over beaten ground, 
and treat of subjects that have already been discussed 
by abler pens. Indeed, various authors have been 
mentioned as my models, to whom I should feel flat- 
tered if I thought I bore the slightest resemblance ; 
but in truth I write after no model that I am con- 
scious of, and I write with no idea of imitation or 
competition. In venturing occasionally on topics 
that have already been almost exhausted by English 
authors, I do it, not with the presumption of chal- 
lenging a comparison, but with the hope that some 
new interest may be given to such topics, when dis- 
cussed by the pen of a stranger. 

If, therefore, I should sometimes be found dwell- 
ing with fondness on subjects trite and commonplace 
with the reader, I beg the circumstances under which 
I write may be kept in recollection. Having been 
born and brought up in a new country, yet educated 
from infancy in the literature of an old one, my 
mind was early filled with historical and poetical 
associations, connected with places, and manners, 
and customs of Europe, but which could rarely be 
applied to those of my own country. To a mind 
thus peculiarly prepared, the most ordinary objects 
and scenes, on arriving in Europe, are full of strange 
matter and interesting novelty. England is as clas- 
sic ground to an American, as Italy is to an English- 
man ; and old London teems with as much historical 
association as mighty Rome. 

Indeed, it is difficult to describe the whimsical 
medley of ideas that throng upon his mind on land- 
ing among English scenes. He for the first time 



THE AUTHOR. 9 

§ees a world about which he has been reading and 
thinking in every stage of his existence. The recol- 
lected ideas of infancy, youth, and manhood, of the 
nursery, the school, and the study, come swarming 
at once upon him : and his attention is distracted 
between great and little objects, each of which, per- 
haps, awakens an equally delightful train of remem- 
brances. 

But what more especially attracts his notice, are 
those peculiarities which distinguish an old country 
and an old state of society from a new one. I have 
never yet grown familiar enough with the crumbling 
monuments of past ages, to blunt the intense inter- 
est with which I at first beheld them. Accustomed 
always to scenes where history was, in a manner, 
anticipation ; where everything in art was new and 
progressive, and pointed to the future rather than to 
the past ; where, in short, the works of man gave 
no ideas but those of young existence and prospec- 
tive improvement ; there was something inexpressibly 
touching in the sight of enormous piles of architec- 
ture, gray with antiquity, and sinking to decay. I 
cannot describe the mute but deep-felt enthusiasm 
with which I have contemplated a vast monastic 
ruin, like Tintern Abbey, buried in the bosom of a 
quiet valley, and shut up from the world, as though 
it had existed merely for itself; or a warrior pile, 
like Conway Castle, standing in stern loneliness on 
its rocky height, a mere hollow yet threatening 
phantom of departed power. They spread a grand, 
and melancholy, and, to me, an unusual charm over 
the landscape ; I for the first time beheld signs of 
national old age, and empire's decay, and proofs of 
the transient and perishing glories of art, amidst the 
ever-springing and reviving fertility of nature. 

But, in fact, to me everything was full of matter, 



10 THE AUTHOR. 

the footsteps of history were everywhere to be traced 
and poetry had breathed over and sanctified the land, 
I experienced the delightful freshness of feeling of a 
child to whom everything is new. I pictured to my- 
self a set of inhabitants and a mode of life for every 
habitation that I saw, from the aristocratical man- 
sion, amidst the lordly repose of stately groves and 
solitary parks, to the straw-thatched cottage, with 
its scanty garden and its cherished woodbine. I 
thought I never could be sated with the sweetness 
and freshness of a country so completely carpeted 
with verdure; where every air breathed of the 
balmy pasture, and the honeysuckled hedge. I was 
continually coming upon some little document of 
poetry in the blossomed hawthorn, the daisy, the 
cowslip, the primrose, or some other simple object 
that has received a supernatural value from the muse. 
The first time that I heard the song of the nightin- 
gale, I was intoxicated more by the delicious crowd 
of remembered associations than by the melody of 
its notes ; and I shall never forget the thrill of ec- 
stasy with which I first saw the lark rise, almost 
from beneath my feet, and wing its musical flight 
up into the morning sky. 

In this way I traversed England, a grown-up 
child, delighted by every object, great and small ; 
and betraying a wondering ignorance, and simple 
enjoyment, that provoked many a stare and a smile 
from my wiser and more experienced fellow-travel- 
lers. Such too was the odd confusion of associations 
that kept breaking upon me as I first approached 
London. One of my earliest wishes had been to 
see this great metropolis. I had read so much about 
it in the earliest books put into my infant hands ; 
and I had heard so much about it from those around 
me who had come from the " old countries," that I 



THE AUTHOR. 11 

ivaa familiar with the names of its streets and squares, 
and public places, before I knew those of my native 
eify. It was, to me, the great centre of the worlds 
round which everything seemed to revolve. I rec- 
ollect contemplating so wistfully, when a boy, a pal- 
try little print of the Thames, and London Bridge, 
and St. Paurs, that was in front of an old magazine ; 
and a picture of Kensington Gardens, with gentle- 
men in three-cornered hats and broad skirts, and 
ladies in hoops and lappets, that hung up in my 
bedroom; even the venerable cut of St. John*s 
Gate, that has stood, time out of mind, in front of 
the Gentleman's Magazine, was not without its 
charms to me ; and I envied the odd-looking little 
men that appeared to be loitering about its arches. 
How then did my heart warm when the towers 
of Westminster Abbey were pointed out to me, ris- 
ing above the rich groves of St. James's Park, with 
a thin blue haze above their gray pinnacles 1 I 
could not behold this great mausoleum of what is 
most illustrious in our paternal history, without feel- 
ing my enthusiasm in a glow. With what eager- 
ness did I explore every part of the metropolis 1 I 
was not content with those matters which occupy 
the dignified research of the learned traveller ; I 
delighted to call up all the feelings of childhood, 
and to seek after those objects which had been the 
wonders of my infancy. London Bridge, so famous 
in nursery song ; the far-famed monument ; Gog and 
JVIagog, and the Lions in the Tower, — all brought 
back many a recollection of infantine delight, and 
of good old beings, now no more, who had gossiped 
about them to my wondering ear. Nor was it 
without a recurrence of childish interest that I first 
peeped into Mr. Newberry's shop, in St. Paul's 
Church-yard, that fountain-head o^ literature Mr. 



12 THE AUTHOR. 

Newberry was the first that ever filled my infant 
mind with the idea of a great and good man. He 
published all tlie picture-books of the day ; and, out 
of his abundant love for children, he charged " iK)th- 
ing for either paper or print, and only a penny-half- 
penny for the binding ! " 

I have mentioned these circumstances, worihr 
reader, to show you the whimsical crowd of associa 
tions that are apt to beset my mind on mingling 
among English scenes. I hope they may, in some 
measure, plead my apology, should I be found harp- 
ing upon stale and trivial themes, or indulging an 
over-fondness for anything antique and obsolete. I 
know it is the humor, not to say cant of the day, to 
run riot about old times, old books, old customs, and 
old buildings ; with myself, however, as far as I have 
caught the contagion, the feeling is genuine. To a 
man from a young country, all old things are in a 
manner new ; and he may surely be excused in being 
a little curious about antiquities, whose native land, 
unfortunately, cannot boast of a single ruin. 

Having been brought up, also, in the comparative 
simplicity of a republic, I am apt to be struck with 
even the ordinary circumstances incident to an aris- 
tocratlcal state of society. If, however, I should at 
any time amuse myself by pointing out some of the 
eccentricities, and some of the poetical characteris- 
tics of the latter, I would not be understood as pre- 
tending to decide upon its political merits. My only 
aim Is to paint characters and manners. I am no 
politician. The more I have considered the study 
of politics, the more I have found it full of perplex- 
ity ; and I have contented myself, as I have in my 
religion, with the faith in which I was brought up, 
regulating my own conduct by its precepts, but 
leaving to abler heads the task of making converts 



THE AUTHOR, 13 

I shall continue on, therefore, in the course I have 
hitherto pursued ; looking at things poetically, rathef 
than politically ; describing them as they are, rather 
than pretending to point out how they should be ; 
and endeavoring to see the world in as pleasant a 
light as circumstances will permit. 

I have always had an opinion that much good 
might be done by keeping mankind in good humor 
with one another. I may be wrong in my philoso- 
phy, but I shall continue to practise it until con- 
vinced of its fallacy. When I discover the world 
to be all that it has been represented by sneering 
cynics and whining poets, I will turn to and abuse 
it also; in the meanwhile, worthy reader, I hope 
you will not think lightly of me, because I cannot 
believe this to be so very bad a world as it is rep- 
resented. 

Thine truly, 

GEOFFREY CRAYON. 





THE HALL. 

The ancien*»st house, and the best for housekeeping, in this 
county or the next ; and though the master of it write but squire, I 
know no lord like him. — Merbt Beqoars. 

j HE reader, if he has perused the volumes 
of the " Sketch-Book " will probably rec- 
ollect something of the Braeebridge fam- 
ily, with which I once passed a Christmas. I am 
now on another visit at the Hall, having been in- 
vited to a wedding which is shortly to take place. 
The Squire's second son, Guy, a fine, spirited 
young captain in the army, is about to be mar- 
ried to his father's ward, the fair Julia Templeton. 
A gathering of relations and friends has already 
commenced, to celebrate the joyful occasion ; for 
the old gentleman is an enemy to quiet, private 
weddings. " There is nothing," he says, " like 
launching a young couple gayly, and cheering 
them from the shore ; a good outset is half the 
voyage." 

Before proceeding any farther, I would beg 
that the Squire might not be confounded with that 
class of hard-riding, fox-hunting gentlemen, so 
often described, and, in fact, so nearly extinct in 
England. I use this rural title partly because it 
is his universal appellation throughout the neigh 



THE HALL. 15 

borhood, and partly because it saves me the fre- 
quent repetition of his name, which is one of 
those rough old English names at which French- 
men exclaim in despair. 

The Squire is, in fact, a lingering specimen of 
the old English country gentleman ; rusticated a 
little by living almost entirely on his estate, and 
something of a humorist, as Englishmen are apt 
to become when they have an opportunity of liv- 
ing in their own way. I like his hobby passing 
well, however, which is, a bigoted devotion to old 
English manners and customs ; it jumps a little 
with my own humor, having as yet a lively and 
unsated curiosity about the ancient and genuine 
characteristics of my " father-land." 

There are some traits about the Squire's fam- 
ily, also, which appear to me to be national. It 
is one of those old aristocratical families which, 
I believe, are peculiar to England, and scarcely 
understood in other countries ; that is to say, fam- 
ilies of the ancient gentry, who, though destitute 
of titled rank, maintain a high ancestral pride : 
who look down upon all nobility of recent crea- 
tion, and would consider it a sacrifice of dignity 
to merge the venerable name of their house in a 
modern title. 

This feeling is very much fostered by the im- 
portance which they enjoy on their hereditary do- 
mains. The family mansion is an old manor- 
house, standing in a retired and beautiful part of 
Yorkshire. Its inhabitants have been always re- 
garded, through the surrounding country, as " the 
great ones of the earth " ; and the little village 



16 BRACEBRWGE HALL, 

near the Hall looks up to the Squire with almost 
feudal homage. An old manor-house, and an old 
family of this kind, are rarely to be met with at 
the present day ; and it is probably the pecu- 
liar humor of the Squire that has retained thia 
secluded specimen of English housekeeping in 
something like the genuine old style. 

I am again quartered in the panelled chamber, 
in the antique wing of the house. The prospect 
from my window, however, has quite a different 
aspect from that wMch it wore on my winter visit. 
Though early in the month of April, yet a few 
warm, sunshiny days have drawn forth the beau- 
ties of the spring, which, I think, are always most 
captivating on their first opening. The parterres 
of the old-fashioned garden are gay with flowers ; 
and the gardener has brought out his exotics, and 
placed them along the stone balustrades. The 
trees are clothed with green buds and tender 
leaves. When I throw open my jingling case- 
ment, I smell the odor of mignonette, and hear the 
hum of the bees fram the flowers against the 
sunny wall, with the varied song of the throstle, 
and the cheerful notes of the tuneful little wren. 

While sojourning in this stronghold of old 
fashions, it is my intention to make occasional 
sketches of the scenes and characters before me. 
I would have it understood, however, that I am 
not writing a novel, and have nothing of intricate 
plot nor marvellous adventure to promise the 
reader. The Hall of which I treat has, for aught 
I know, neither trap-door, nor sliding-panel, nor 
ionjon-keep ; and indeed appears to have no mys- 



THE HALL. 17 

tery about it. The family is a worthy, well- 
meaning family, that, in all probability, will eat 
and drink, and go to bed, and get up regularly, 
from one end of my work to the other ; and the 
Squire is so kind-hearted, that I see no likelihood 
of his throwing any kind of distress in the way 
of the approaching nuptials. In a word, I cannot 
foiesee a single extraordinary event that is likely 
to occur in the whole term of my sojourn at the 
Hall 

I tell this honestly to the reader, lest, when he 
finds me dallying along, through every-day Eng- 
lish scenes, he may hurry ahead, in hopes of 
meeting with some marvellous adventure further 
on. I invite him, on the contrary, to ramble gen* 
tly on with me, as he would saunter out into the 
fields, stopping occasionally to gather a flower, or 
listen to a bird, or admire a prospect, without 
any anxiety to arrive at the end of his career. 
Should 1, however, in the course of my wander- 
ings about this old mansion, see or hear anything 
curious, that might serve to vary the monotony 
of this every-day life, I shall not fail to reoort it 
for the reader's entertainment : 

For freshest wits I know will soon be wearie, 
Of any book, how grave soe'er it be, 
Except it have odd matter, strange and menie, 
Well sauc'd with lies, and glared all with glee.* 

* Mirror for Magistrate!. 




THE BUSY MAN. 

A decayed gentleman, who lives most apon his own mirth and my 
Piaster's means, and much good do him with it. He does hold my 
master up with his stories, and songs, and catches, and such tricks 
And jigs, you would admire — he is with him now. — Jovial Crjew. 

|Y no one has my return to the Hall 
been more heartily greeted than by Mr. 
Simon Bracebridge, or Master Simon, 
as the Squire most commonly calls him. 1 en- 
countered him just as I entered the park, where 
he was breaking a pointer, and he received me 
with all the hospitable cordiality with which a 
man welcomes a friend to another one's house. 
I have already introduced him to the reader as a 
brisk old bachelor-looking little man ; the wit and 
superannuated beau of a large family connection, 
and the Squire's factotum. I found him, as 
usual, full of bustle ; with a thousand petty things 
to do, and persons to attend to, and in chirping 
gcwxl - humor ; for there are few happier beings 
than a busy idler, that is to say, a man who is 
eternally busy about nothing. 

I visited him, the morning after my arrival, in 
his chamber, which is in a remote corner of tfie 
mansion, as he says he likes to be to himself, and 
out of the way. He has fitted it up in his own 



THE BUSY MAN, 19 

'jaste, so that it is a perfect epitome of an old 
bachelor's notions of convenience and arrangement. 
The furniture is made up of odd pieces from all 
parts of the house, chosen on account of their suit- 
ing his notions, or fitting some corner of his apart- 
ment ; and he is very eloquent in praise of an 
ancient elbow-chair, from which he takes occasion 
to digress into a censure on modern chairs, as 
having degenerated from the dignity and comfort 
of high-backed antiquity. 

Adjoining to his room is a small cabinet, which 
he calls his study. Here are some hanging 
Bhelves, of liis own construction, on which are 
several old works on hawking, hunting, and far- 
riery, and a collection or two of poems and songs 
of the reign of Elizabeth, which he studies out 
of compliment to the Squire ; together with the 
Novelist's Magazine, the Sporting Magazine, the 
Racing Calendar, a volume or two of the New- 
gate Calendar, a book of peerage, and another of 
heraldry. 

His sporting dresses hang on pegs in a small 
closet ; and about the walls of his apartment are 
hooks to hold his fishing-tackle, whips, spurs, and 
a favorite fowling-piece, curiously wrought and 
inlaid, which he inherits from his grandfather. 
He has, also, a couple of old single-keyed flutes, 
and a fiddle which he has repeatedly patched and 
mended himself, affirming it to be a veritable 
Cremona ; though I have never heard him ex- 
tract a single note from it that was not enough to 
make one's blood run cold. 

From this little nest his fiddle will often be 



20 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

heard, in the stillness of mid-day, drowsily sawing 
some long-forgotten tune ; for he prides himself 
on 1 laving a choice collection of good old Eng- 
lish music, and will scarcely have anything to do 
with modern composers. The time, however, at 
which his musical powers are of most use, is now 
and then of an evening, when he plays for the 
children to dance in the hall ; and he passes among 
them and the servants for a perfect Orpheus. 

His chamber also bears evidence of his vari- 
ous avocations : there are half-copied sheets of 
music ; designs for needle- work ; sketches of 
landscapes, very indifferently executed ; a camera 
lucida ; a magic lantern, for which he is endeav- 
oring to paint glasses ; in a word, it is the cabi- 
net of a man of many accomplishments, who 
knows a little of everything, and does nothing 
well. 

After I had spent some time in his apartment, 
admiring the ingenuity of his small inventions, 
he took me about the establishment, to visit the 
stables, dog-kennel, and other dependencies, in 
which he appeared like a general visiting the dif- 
ferent quarters of his camp ; as the Squire leaves 
the control of all these matters to him, when he 
is at the Hall. He inquired into the state of the 
horses ; examined their feet ; prescribed a drench 
for one, and bleeding for another ; and then took 
me to look at his own horse, on the merits of 
which he dwelt with great prolixity, and which, 
I noticed, had the best stall in the stable. 

After this I was taken to a new toy of his and 
the Squire's, which he termed the falconry, where 



THE BUSY MAN. 21 

there were several unhappy birds in durance, com- 
pleting their education. Among the number was 
a fine falcon, which Master Simon had in espe- 
cial training, and he told me that he would show 
me, in a few days, some rare sport of the good 
old-fashioned kind. In the course of our round, 
I noticed that the grooms, gamekeeper, whippers- 
in, and other retainers, seemed all to be on some- 
what of a familiar footing with Master Simon, 
and fond of having a joke with him, though it 
was evident they had great deference for his 
opinion in matters relating to their functions. 

There was one exception, however, in a testy 
old huntsman, as hot as a pepper-corn ; a meagre, 
wiry old fellow, in a threadbare velvet jockey- 
cap, and a pair of leather breeches, that, from 
much wear, shone as though they had been ja- 
panned. He was very contradictory and pragmat- 
ical, and apt, as I thought, to differ from Master 
Simon now and then, out of mere captiousness. 
This was particularly the case with respect to 
the treatment of the hawk, which the old man 
seemed to have under his peculiar care, and, ac- 
cording to Master Simon, was in a fair way to 
ruin : the latter had a vast deal to say about 
casting^ and imping^ and gleaming^ and enseaming, 
and giving the hawk the rangle^ which I saw was 
all heathen Greek to old Christy ; but he main- 
tained his point notwithstanding, and seemed ta 
hold all this technical lore in utter disrespect. 

I was surprised at the good-humor with which 
Master Simon bore his contradictions, till he ex- 
plained the matter to me afterwards. Old 



22 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

Christy is the most ancient servant in thb piace, 
having lived among dogs and horses the greater 
part of a century, and been in the service of Mr 
Bracebridge's father. He knows the pedigree 
of every horse on the place, and has bestrode the 
great-great-grandsires of most of them. He can 
give a circumstantial detail of every fox-hunt for 
the last sixty or seventy years, and has a history 
for every stag's head about the house, and every 
hunting-trophy nailed to the door of the dog 
kennel. 

All the present race have grown up under his 
eye, and humor him in his old age. He once 
attended the Squire to Oxford, when he was 
student there, and enlightened the whole univer- 
sity with his hunting-lore. All this is enough to 
make the old man opinionated, since he finds, on 
all these matters of first-rate importance, he knows 
more than the rest of the world. Indeed, Master 
Simon had been his pupil, and acknowledges that 
he derived his first knowledge in hunting rrom 
the instructions of Christy ; and I much question 
whether the old man does not still look upon him 
as rather a greenhorn. 

On our return homewards, as we were crossing 
the lawn in front of the house, we heard the por- 
ter's bell ring at th^ lodge, and shortly afterwards 
a kind of cavalcade advanced slowly up the ave- 
nue. At sight of it my companion paused, con- 
sidered it for a moment, and then, making a sud- 
den exclamation, hurried away to meet it. As 
it approached I discovered a fair, fresh - looking 
elderly lady, dressed in an old-fashioned liding- 



THE BUSY MAN, 28 

habit, with a broad-brimmed white beaver hat 
Buch as may be seen in Sir Joshua Reynolds's 
paintings. She rode a sleek white pony, and was 
followed by a footman in rich livery, mounted on 
an over-fed hunter. At a little distance in the 
rear came an ancient cumbrous chariot drawn by 
two very corpulent horses, driven by as corpu- 
lent a coachman, beside whom sat a page dressed 
in a fanciful green livery. Inside of the chariot 
was a starched prim personage, with a look some- 
what between a lady's companion and a lady's 
maid, and two pampered curs, that showed their 
ugly faces, and barked out of each window. 

There was a general turning out of the garri 
son to receive this new-comer. The Squire as- 
sisted her to alight, and saluted her affectionately ; 
the fair Julia flew into her arms, and they em- 
braced with the romantic fervor of boarding- 
school friends : she was escorted into the house 
by Julia's lover, towards whom she showed dis- 
tinguished favor ; and a line of the old servants, 
who had collected in the Hall, bowed most pro- 
foundly as she passed. 

I observed that Master Simon was most assid- 
uous and devout in his attentions upon this old 
lady. He walked by the side of her pony up 
the avenue ; and, while she was receiving the 
salutations of the rest of the family, he took occa- 
sion to notice the fat coachman ; to pat the 
sleek carriage-horses, and, above all, to say a 
iivil word to my lady's gentlewoman, the prim, 
sour-looking vestal in the chariot. 

I had no more of his company for the rest of 



24 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 



the morning. He was swept off in the vortej 
that followed in the wake of this lady. Once 
indeed he paused for a moment, as he was hurry- 
ing on some errand of the good lady's, to let me 
know that this was Lady Lillycraft, a sister of 
the Squire's, of large fortune, which the captain 
would inherit, and that her estate lay in one of 
the best sporting counties in all England. 



FAIMILY SERVANTS. 




Verily old servants are the vouchers of worthy housekeeping, 
rhey are like rats in a mansion, or mites in a cheese, bespeaking the 
antiquity and fatness of their abode. 

N my casual anecdotes of the Hall, I 
may often be tempted to dwell upon cir- 
cumstances of a trite and ordinary na- 
ture, from their appearing to me illustrative of 
genuine national character. It seems to me to be 
the study of the Squire to adhere, as much as 
possible, to what he considers the old landmarks 
of English manners. His servants all understand 
his ways, and for the most part have been accus- 
tomed to them from infancy ; so that, upon the 
whole, his household presents one of the few toU 
erable specimens that can now be met with, of 
the establishment of an English country gentle- 
man of the old school. 

By the by, the servants are not the least char- 
acteristic part of the household : the housekeeper, 
for instance, has been born and brought up at the 
Hall, and has never been twenty miles from it ; 
yet she has a stately air that would not disgrace 
a lady that had figured at the court of Queen 
Elizabeth. 



26 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

I am half inclined to think she has caught it 
fiom living so much among the old family pic- 
tures. It may, however, be owing to a conscious- 
ness of her importance in the ophere in which 
she has always moved ; for she is greatly re- 
spected in the neighboring village, and among 
the farmers' wives, and has high authority in the. 
liousehold, ruling over the servants with quiet 
but undisputed sway. 

She is a thin old lady, with blue eyes and 
pointed nose and cliin. Her dress is always the 
game as to fashion. She wears a small, well- 
starched ruff, a laced stomacher, full petticoats, 
and a gown festooned and open in front, which, 
on particular occasions, is of ancient silk, the 
legacy of some former dame of the family, or an 
inheritance from her mother, who was house- 
keeper before her. I have a reverence for these 
old garments, as I make no doubt they have 
figured about these apartments in days long past, 
when they have set off the charms of some peer- 
less family beauty ; and I have sometimes looked 
from the old housekeeper to the neighboring por 
traits, to see whether I could not recognize her 
antiquated brocade in the dress of some one of 
those long- waist ed dames that smile on me from 
the walls. 

Her hair, which is quite white, is frizzed out 
in front, and she wears over it a small cap, nicely 
plaited, and brought 'down under the chin. Her 
manners are simple and primitive, heightened a 
little by a proper dignity of station. 

The Hall is her world^ and the history of the 



FAMILY SERVANTS. 27 

family the only history she knows, excepting that 
which she has read in the Bible. She can give 
a biography of every portrait in the picture gal- 
lery, and is a complete family chronicle. 

She is treated with great consideration by the 
Squire. Indeed, Master Simon tells me thai 
there is a traditional anecdote current among the 
servants, of the Squire's having been seen kissing 
her in the picture gallery, when they were both 
young. As, however, nothing further was ever 
noticed between them, the circumstance caused 
no great scandal ; only she was observed to take 
to reading Pamela shortly afterwards, and refused 
the hand of the village innkeeper, whom she had 
previously smiled on. 

The old butler, who was formerly footman, and 
a rejected admirer of hers, used to tell the anec- 
dote now and then, at those little cabals which 
will occasionally take place among the most 
orderly servants, arising from the common pro- 
pensity of the governed to talk against adminis- 
tration ; but he has left it off, of late years, since 
he has risen into place, and shakes his head re* 
bukingly when it is mentioned. 

It is certain that the old lady will, to this day, 
dwell upon the looks of the Squire when he was 
a yoking man at college ; and she maintains that 
none of his sons can compare with their father 
when he was of their age, and was dressed out in 
his full suit of scarlet, with his hair craped and 
powdered, and his three-cornered hat. 

She has an orphan niece, a pretty, soft-hearted 
baggage, named Phoebe Wilkins, who has been 



28 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

transplanted to the Hall within a year or two, and 
been nearly spoiled for any condition of life. She 
is a kind of attendant and companion of the fair 
Julia's ; and from loitering about the young 
lady's apartments, reading scraps of novels, and 
inheriting second-hand finery, has become some- 
thing between a waiting-maid and a slipshod fine 
lady. 

She is considered a kind of heiress among the 
servants, as she will inherit all her aunt's prop- 
erty ; which, if report be true, must be a round 
sura of good golden guineas, the accumulated 
wealth of two housekeepers' savings ; not to 
mention the hereditary wardrobe, and the many 
little valuables and knick-knacks treasured up in 
the housekeepers' room. Indeed, the old house- 
keeper has the reputation among the servants and 
the villagers of being passing rich ; and there is 
a japanned chest of drawers and a large iron- 
bound coffer in her room, which are supposed, by 
the housemaids, to hold treasures of wealth. 

The old lady is a great friend of Master Simon, 
who, indeed, pays a little court to her, as to a 
person high in authority; and they have many 
discussions on points of family history, in which, 
"lotwithstanding his extensive information and 
pride of knowledge, he commonly admits her 
superior accuracy. He seldom returns to the 
Hall, after one of his visits to the other branches 
of the family, without bringing Mrs. Wilkins 
gome remembrance from the ladies of the house 
where he has been staying. 

Indeed, all the children of the house look up 



FAMILY SERVANTS. 29 

to the old lady with habitual respect and attach- 
ment, and she seems almost to consider them aa 
her own, from their having grown up under hef 
eye. The Oxonian, however, is her favorite, 
pro])ably from being the youngest, though he is 
the most mischievous, and has been apt to play 
tricks upon her from boyhood. 

I cannot help mentioning one little ceremony, 
which, I believe, is peculiar to the Hall. After 
the cloth is removed at dinner, the old house- 
keeper sails into the room, and stands behind the 
Squire's chair, when he fills her a glass of wine 
with his own hands, in which she drinks the 
health of the company in a truly respectful yet 
dignified manner, and then retires. The Squire 
received the custom from his father, and has 
always continued it. 

There is a peculiar character about the servants 
of old English families, that reside principally in 
the country. They have a quiet, orderly, re- 
spectful mode of doing their duties. They are 
always neat in their persons, and appropriately, 
and, if I may use the phrase, technically dressed ; 
they move about the house without Imrry or 
noise ; there is nothing of the bustle of employ- 
ment, or the voice of command ; nothing of that 
obtrusive housewifery which amounts to a tor- 
ment. You are not persecuted by the process of 
making you comfortable ; yet everything is done, 
and is done well. The work of the house is per- 
formed as if by magic, but it is the magic of 
system. Nothing is done by fits and starts, nor 
at awkward seasons ; the whole goes on like 



30 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

well-oiled clock-work, where there is no noise 
nor jarring in its operations. 

English servants, in general, are not treated 
with great indulgence, nor rewarded by many 
commendations ; for the English are laconic and 
reserved toward their domestics ; but an approv- 
ing nod and a kind word from master or mistress 
goes as far here as an excess of praise or indul- 
gence elsewhere. Neither do servants often ex- 
hibit any animated marks of affection to their 
employers ; yet, though quiet, they are strong in 
their attachments ; and the reciprocal regard of 
masters and servants, though not ardently ex- 
pressed, is powerful and lasting in old English 
families. 

The title of " an old family servant '* carries 
with it a thousand kind associations, in all parts of 
the world ; and there is no claim upon the home- 
bred charities of the heart more irresistible than 
that of having been " born in the house." It is 
common to see gray-headed domestics of this 
kind attached to an English family of the " old 
school," who continue in it to the day of their 
death, in the enjoyment of steady, unaffected 
kindness, and the performance of faithful, unof- 
ficious duty. I think such instances of attach- 
ment speak well for both master and servant, and 
the frequency of them speaks well for national 
character. 

These observations, however, hold good only 
with families of the description I have men- 
tioned, and with such as are somewhat retired, 
and pass the greater part of their time in the 



FAMIL Y SEE VAN TS. 3 1 

country. As to the powdered . menials that 
throng the halls of fashionable town residences, 
they equally reflect the character of the estab- 
lishments to which they belong ; and I know no 
more complete epitome of dissolute heartlessness, 
and pampered inutility. 

But the good " old family servant," — the one 
who has always been linked, in idea, with the 
home of our heart ; who has led us to school in 
the days of prattling childhood ; who has been 
the confidant of our boyish cares, and schemes, 
and enterprises ; who has hailed us as we came 
home at vacations, and been the promoter of all 
our holiday sports ; who, when we, in wanderiug 
manhood, have leit the paternal roof, and only 
return thither at intervals, will welcome us with 
a joy inferior only to that of our parents ; who, 
now grown gray and infirm with age, still totters 
about the house of our fathers, in fond and faith- 
ful servitude ; who claims us, in a manner, as his 
own ; and hastens with querulous eagerness to 
anticipate his fellow-domestics in waiting upon 
us at table ; and who, when we retire ?iv night to 
the chamber that still goes by our name, will 
linger about the room to have one more kind 
look, and one more pleasant word about timea 
that are past, — who does not experience towards 
such a being a feeling of almost filial affec- 
tion ? 

I have met with several instances of epitaphs 
on the grave-stones of such valuable domestics, 
recorded with the simple truth of natural feel- 
ing. I have two before me at this moment ; one 



32 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

copied from a tombstone of a church in Warwick- 
shire : 

" Here lieth the body of Joseph Batte, con 
fidential servant to George Birch, Esq., of Ham- 
stead Hall. His grateful frieiid and master 
caused this inscription to be w^ritten in memory 
of his discretion, fidelity, diligence, and continence. 
He died (a bachelor) aged 84, having lived 44 
years in the same family." 

The other was taken from a tombstone in 
Eltham church-yard : 

*' Here lie the remains of Mr. James Tappy, 
who departed this life on the 8th of September, 
1818, aged 84, after a faithful service of GO years 
in one family ; by each individual of which he 
lived respected, and died lamented by the sole 
survivor." 

Few monuments, even of the illustrious, have 
given me the glow about the heart that I felt 
while copying this honest epitaph in the church- 
yard of Eltham. I sympathized with this " sole 
survivor " of a family mourning over the grave 
of the faithful follower of his race, who had been, 
no doubt, a living memento of times and friends 
that had passed away; and in considering this 
record of long and devoted service, I call to mmd 
the touching speech of Old Adam, in " As You 
Like It," when tottering after the youthful son 
of his ancient master : 

" Master, go on, and I will follow thee 
To the last gasp, with love and loyalty." 

Note — I cannot but mention a tablet which I have seen 
lomewhere in the chapel of Windsor Castle, put up by the 



FAMILY SERVANTS. 33 

late king to the memorj' of a family servant, who had been a 
faithful attendant of his lamented daughter, the Princess 
Amelia. George III. possessed much of the strong, domestic 
feeling of the old English countiy gentleman; and it is an 
incident curious in monumental history, and creditable to the 
human heart, a monarch erecting a monument in honor of the 
bumble virtues of a meniaL 

3 




THE WIDOW. 

She was so charitable and pitioiis 
She would weep if that she saw a mous 
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled : 
Of small hounds had she, that she fed 
With rost flesh, milke, and wastel bread, 
But sore wept she if any of them were dead, 
Or if man smote them with a yard smart. 

Chaucer 

fjOTWITHSTANDING the whimsical 
parade made by Lady Lillycraft on her 
arrival, she has none of the petty state- 
liness that I had imagined ; but, on the contrary, 
a degree of nature, and simple-heartedness, if I 
may use the phrase, that mingles well with her 
old-fashioned manners and harmless ostentation. 
She dresses in rich silks, with long waist ; she 
rouges considerably, and her hair, which is nearly 
white, is frizzed out, and put up with pins. Her 
face is pitted with the small-pOx, but the delicacy 
of her features shows that she may once have 
been beautiful ; and she has a very fair and well- 
fihaped hand and arm, of which, if I mistake not, 
the good lady is still a little vain. 

I have had the curiosity to gather a few par- 
ticulars concerning her. She was a great belle 
in town between thirty and forty years since, and 



THE WIDOW. 35 

reioTied for two seasons with all the insolence oi 
beauty, refusing several excellent offers ; when, 
unfortunately, she was robbed of her charms and 
her lovers by an ^attack of the small-pox. She 
retired immediately into the country, where she 
some time after inherited an estate, and married 
a baronet, a former admirer, whose passion had 
suddenly revived ; " having," as he said, " always 
loved her mind rather than her person." 

The baronet did not enjoy her mind and for 
tune above six months, and had scarcely grown 
very tired of her, when he broke his neck in a 
fox-chase, and left her free, rich, and disconsolate. 
She has remained on her estate in the country 
ever since, and has never shown any desire to 
return to town, and revisit the scene of her early 
triumphs and fatal malady. All her favorite rec- 
ollections, however, revert to that short period of 
her youthful beauty. She has no idea of town 
but as it was at that time ; and continually for- 
gets that the place and people must have changed 
materially in the course of nearly half a century. 
She will often speak of the toasts of those days 
as if still reigning ; and, until very recently, used 
to talk with delight of the royal family, and the 
beauty of the young 'princes and princesses. She 
cannot be brought to think of the present king 
otherwise than as an elegant young man, rather 
wild, but who danced a minuet divinely ; and 
before he came to the crown, would often mention 
him as the " sweet young prince." 

She talks also of the walks in Kensington 
Garden, where the gentlemen appeared in gold- 



86 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

laced coats and cocked hats, and the ladies in 
hoops, and swept so proudly along the grassy 
avenues ; and she thinks the ladies let themselves 
sadly down in their dignity, when they gave up 
cushioned head-dresses, and high -heeled shoes 
She has much to say too of the officers who were 
in the train of her admirers ; and speaks famil- 
iarly of many wild young blades, who are now, 
perhaps, hobbling about watering - places with 
crutches and gouty shoes. 

Whether the taste the good lady had of matri- 
mony discouraged her or not, I cannot say ; but 
though her merits and her riches have attracted 
many suitors, she has never been tempted to 
venture again into the happy state. This is 
singular, too, for she seems of a most soft and 
susceptible heart ; is always talking of love and 
connubial felicity, and is a great stickler for old- 
fashioned gallantry, devoted attentions, and eternal 
constancy, on the part of the gentlemen. She 
lives, however, after her own taste. Her house, 
I am told, must have been built and furnished 
about the time of Sir Charles Grandison : every- 
thing about it is somewhat formal and stately ; 
but has been softened down into a degree of 
voluptuousness, characteristic of an old lady, very 
tender-hearted and romantic, and who loves her 
ease. The cushions of the great arm-chairs, and 
wide sofas, almost bury you when you sit down 
on them. Flowers of the must rare and delicate 
kind are placed about the rooms and on little ja- 
panned stands ; and sweet bags lie about the ta- 
bles and mantelpieces. The house is full of pe^ 



THE WIDOW. 33 

dogs, Angola cats, and singing-birds, who are a^ 
carefully waited upon as she is herself. 

She is dainty in her living, and a little of an 
epicure, lining on white meats, and little ladylike 
dishes, though her servants have substantial old 
English fare, as their looks bear witness. Indeed, 
they are so indulged that they are all spoiled ; 
and when they lose their present place, they will 
be fit for no other. Her ladyship is one of those 
easy-tempered beings, that are always doomed to 
be much liked, but ill served by their domestics.; 
and cheated by all the world. 

Much of her time is passed in reading novels, 
of which she has a most extensive library, and a 
constant supply from the publishers in town 
Her erudition in this line of literature is immense ; 
she has kept pace with the press for half a cen- 
tury. Her mind is stuffed with love-tales of all 
idnds, from the stately amours of the old books 
of chivalry, down to the last blue-covered ro- 
mance, reeking from the press ; though she evi- 
dently gives the preference to those that came out 
in the days of her youth, and when she was first 
in love. She maintains that there are no novels 
written nowadays equal to Pamela and Sir 
Charles Grandison ; and she places the Castle of 
Otranto at the head of all romances. 

She does a vast deal of good in her neighbor- 
hood, and is imposed upon by every beggar in the 
county. She is the benefactress of a village 
ttdjoining her estate, and takes an especial inter- 
est in all its love - affairs. She knows of every 
oourtship that is going on ; every lovelorn damsel 



38 BRACEBRWGE HALL, 

is sure to find a patient listener and a sage adviser 
in her ladyship. She takes great pains to recon- 
cile all love-quarrels ; and should any faithless 
swain persist in his inconstancy, he fe sure to 
draw on himself the good lady's violent indigna- 
tion. 

I have learned these particulars partly from 
Frank Bracebridge, and partly from Master Simon, 
I am now able to account for the assiduous atten- 
tion of the latter to her ladyship. Her house is 
one of his favorite resorts, where he is a very 
important personage. He makes her a visit of 
business once a year, when he looks into all her 
affairs ; which, as she is no manager, are apt to 
get into confusion. He examines the books of 
the overseer, and shoots about the et^tate, which, 
he says, is well stocked with game, notwithstand- 
ing that it is poached by all the vagabonds in the 
neighborhood. 

It is thought, as I before hinted, that the cap- 
tain will inherit the greater part of her property, 
having always been her chief favorite : for, in 
fact, she is partial to a red coat. She has now 
come to the Hall to be present at his nuptials, 
having a great disposition to interest herself in 
ftU matters of love and matrimony. 




THE LOYEKS. 

Kise up, my love, my fair one, and come away ; for lo the winter ii 
past, the rain is over and gone ; the flowers appear on the earth, 
the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle 
is heard in the land. — Song op Solomon. 

|0 a man who is little of a philosopher, 
and a bachelor to boot ; and who, by 
dint of some experience in the follies of 
life, begins to look with a learned eye upon the 
ways of man, and eke of woman ; to such a man, 
I say, there is something very entertaining in 
noticing the conduct of a pair of young lovers. 
It may not be as grave and scientific a study as 
the loves of the plants, but it is certainly as in- 
teresting. 

I have therefore derived much pleasure, since 
my arrival at the Hall, from observing the lair 
Julia and her lover. She has all the delightful, 
blushing consciousness of an artless girl, inexpe- 
rienced in coquetry, who has made her first con- 
quest; while the captain regards her with that 
mixture of fondness and exultation with which a 
youthful lover is apt to contemplate so beauteous 
A prize. 

I observed them yesterday in the garden, ad- 
vancing along one of the r^tire4 walks. The 



40 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

sun was shiinng with delicious warmth, making 
great masses of bright verdure, and deep blue 
shade. The cuckoo, that " harbinger of spring," 
was faintly heard from a distance ; the thrush 
piped from the hawthorn ; and the yellow butter- 
flies sported, and toyed, and coquetted in the 
air. 

The fair Julia was leaning on her lover's arm, 
listening to his conversation, with her eyes east 
down, a soft blush on her cheek, and a quiet 
smile on her lips, while in the hand that hung 
negligently by her side was a bunch of flow- 
ers. In this way they were sauntering slowly 
along ; and when I considered them, and the 
scene in which they were moving, I could not 
but think it a thousand pities that the season 
should ever change, or that young people should 
ever grow older, or that blossoms should give 
way to fruit, or that lovers should ever get 
married. 

From what I have gathered of family anecdote, 
I understand that the fair Julia is the daughter 
of a favorite college friend of the Squire ; who, 
after leaving Oxford, had entered the army, and 
served for many years in India, where he was 
mortally wounded in a skirmish with the natives. 
In his last moments he had, with a faltering pen, 
recommended his wife and daughter to the kind- 
ness of his early friend. 

The widow and her child returned to England 
helpless and almost hopeless. When Mr. Brace- 
bridge received accounts of their situation, he 
hastened to their relief. He reached them just in 



THE LOVERS. 41 

time to soothe the last moments of the mother 
who was dying of a consumption, and to make 
her happy in the assurance that her child should 
never want a protector. 

The good Squire returned with his prattling 
charge to his stronghold, where he has brought 
her up with a tenderness truly paternal. As he 
has taken some pains to superintend her educa- 
,.:on, and form her taste, she has grown up with 
many of his notions, and considers him the wisest 
as well as the best of men. Much of her time, 
too, has been passed with Lady Lilly craft, who has 
instructed her in the manners of the old school, 
and enriched her mind with all kinds of novels and 
romances. Indeed, her ladyship has had a great 
hand in promoting the match between Julia and 
the captain, having had them together at her 
country seat the moment she found there was an 
attachment growing up between them ; the good 
lady being never so happy as when she has a pair 
of turtles cooing about her. 

I have been pleased to see the fondness with 
which the fair Julia is regarded by the old ser- 
vants at the Hall. She has been a pet with them 
from childhood, and every one seems to lay some 
claim to her education ; so that it is no wonder 
she should be extremely accomplished. The gar- 
dener taught her to rear flowers, of which she 
is extremely fond. Old Christy, the pragmatical 
huntsman, softens when she approaches ; and as 
she sits lightly and gracefully in her saddle, claims 
he merit of having taught her to ride ; w^hile 
the housekeeper, who almost looks upon her as 



42 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

a daughter, intimates that she first gave her an 
insight into the mysteries of the toilet, having 
been dressing-maid in her young days to the late 
Mrs. Bracebridge. I am inclined to credit this 
last claim, as I have noticed that the dress of the 
young lady had an air of the old school, though 
managed with native taste, and that her hair was 
put up very much in tke style of Sir Peter Lely's 
portraits in the picture gallery. 

Her very musical attainments partake of this 
old-fashioned character, and most of her songs are 
such as are not at the present day to be found on 
the piano of a modern performer. I have, how- 
ever, seen so much of modern fashions, modern 
accomplishments, and modern fine ladies, that I 
relish this tinge of antiquated style in so young 
and lovely a girl ; and I have had as much pleas- 
ure in hearing her warble one of the old songs of 
Herrick, or Carew, or Suckling, adapted to some 
simple old melody, as from listening to a lady 
amateur sky-lark it up and down through the 
finest bravura of Rossini or Mozart. 

We have very pretty music in the evenings, 
occasionally, between her and the captain, assisted 
sometimes by Master Simon, who scrapes, dubi- 
ously, on his violin ; bemg very apt to get out 
and to halt a note or two in the rear. Sometimes 
he even thrums a little on the piano, and takes a 
part in a trio, in which his voice can generally be 
distinguished by a certain quavering tone, and an 
occasional false note. 

I was praising the fair Julia's performance to 
liim after one of her songs, when I found he took 



THE LOVERS. 



43 



to himself the whole credit of having fovmed her 
musical taste, assuring me that she was very apt , 
and, indeed, summing up her whole character in 
his knowing way, by adding, that '' she was a 
very nice girl, and had no nonsense about her/' 




FAJVIILY RELICS. 

My Infelice's face, her brow, her eye, 

The dimple on her cheek : and such sweet skill 

Hath from the cunning workman's pencil flown. 

These lips look fresh and lively as her own. 

False colors last after the true be dead. 

Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks, 

Of all the graces dancing in her eyes, 

Of all the music set upon her tongue, 

Of all that was past woman's excellence 

In her white bosom ; look, a painted board 

Circumscribes all ! Dekkeb. 




I N old English family mansion is a fertile 
subject for study. It abounds with il- 
lustrations of former times, and traces 
of the tastes, and humors, and manners, of succes- 
sive generations. The alterations and additions, 
in different styles of architecture ; the furniture, 
plate, pictures, hangings ; the warlike and sport- 
ing implements of different ages and fancies ; all 
furnish food for curious and amusing speculation. 
As the Squire is very careful in collecting and 
* preserving all family relics, the Hall is full of 
remembrances of the kind. In looking about the 
establishment, I can picture to myself the charac- 
ters and habits that have prevailed at different 
eras of tl o family history. I have mentioned on 
a former occasion the armor of the crusaders 



FAMILY RELICS. 45 

which hangs up in the Hall. There are also sev- 
eral jackboots, with enormously thick soles and 
high heels, which belonged to a set of cavaliers, 
who filled the Hall with the din and stir of arms 
daring the time of the Covenanters. A number 
of enormous drinking-vessels of antique fashion, 
witli huge Venice glasses, and gi'een hock-glasses, 
with the Apostles in relief on them, remain as 
monuments of a generation or two of hard livers, 
who led a life of roaring revelry, and first intro- 
duced the gout into the family. 

I shall pass over several more such indications 
of temporary tastes of the Squire's predecessors ; 
but I cannot forbear to notice a pair of antlers in 
the great hall, which is one of the trophies of a 
hard-riding squire of former times, who was the 
Nimrod of these parts. There are many tradi- 
tions of his wonderful feats in hunting still exist- 
ing, which are related by old Christy, the hunts- 
man, who gets exceedingly nettled if they are in 
the least doubted. Indeed, there is a frightful 
chasm, a few miles from the Hall, which goes by 
the name of tlie Squire's Leap, from his having 
cleared it in the ardor of the chase ; there can be 
no doubt of the fact, for old Christy shows the 
very dints of the horse's hoofs on the rocks on 
each side of the chasm. 

Master Simon holds the memory of this Squire 
in great veneration, and lias a number of ex- 
traordinary stories to tell concerning him, which 
he repeats at all hunting-dinners ; and I am told 
that they wax more and more marvellous the 
older they grow. He has also a pair of Rippon 



46 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

spurs which belonged to this mighty hunter of 
yore, and which he only wears on particular oc- 
casions. 

The place, however, which abounds most with 
mementos of past times, is the picture gallery ; 
and there is something strangely pleasing, though 
melancholy, in considering the long rows of por- 
traits which compose the greater part of the col- 
lection. They furnish a kind of narrative of the 
lives of the family worthies which I am enabled 
to read with the assistance of the venerable house- 
keeper, who is the family chronicler, prompted 
occasionally by Master Simon. There is the 
progress of a fine lady, for instance, through a 
variety of portraits. One represents her as a lit 
tie girl, with a long waist and hoop, holding a 
kitten in her arms, and ogling the spectator out 
of the corners of her eyes, as if she could not turn 
her head. In another we find her in the fresh- 
ness of youthful beauty, when she was a cele- 
brated belle, and so hard-hearted as to cause sev- 
eral unfortunate gentlemen to run desperate and 
write bad poetry. In another she is depicted as 
a stately dame, in the maturity of her charms ; 
next to the portrait of her husband, a gallant 
colonel in full-bottomed wig and gold-laced hat, 
who was killed abroad ; and, finally, her monument 
is in the church, the spire of which may be seen 
from the window, where her effigy is carved in 
marble, and represents her as a venerable dame 
of seventy-six. 

In like manner I have followed some of the 
family great men through a series of picture/^ 



FAMILY RELICS. 47 

from early boyhood to the robe of dignity, or 
truncheon of command, and so on by degrees, un- 
til they were garnered up in the common repos- 
itory, the neighboring church. 

There is one group that particularly interested 
me. It consisted of four sisters of nearly the 
same age, who flourished about a centurj since, 
and, if I may judge from their portraits, were 
extremely beautiful. I can imagine what a scene 
of gayety and romance this old mansion must 
have been, when they were in the heyday of their 
charms ; when they passed like beautiful vis- 
ions through its halls, or stepped daintily to mu- 
sic in the revels and dances of ^he cedar gallery ; 
or printed, with delicate feet, tht, velvet verdure 
of these lawns. How must they have been look- 
ed up to with mingled love, and pride, and rev- 
erence, by the old family servants ; and followed 
with almost painful admiration by the aching eyes 
of rival admirers ! How must melody, and song, 
and tender serenade, have breathed about these 
courts, and their echoes whispered to the loitering 
tread of lovers ! How must these very turrets 
have made the hearts of the young galliards thrill 
as they first discerned them from afar, rising from 
among the trees, and pictured to themselves the 
beauties casketed like gems within these walls ! 
Indeed, I have discovered about the place several 
faint records of this reign of love and romance, 
when the Hall was a kind of Court of Beauty. 

Several of the old romances in the library 
have marginal notes expressing sympathy and 
approbs^tion, where there are long speeches extol- 



48 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

ling ladies' charms, or protesting eternal fideli\y5 
or bewailing the cruelty of some tyrannical fair 
one. The interviews, and declarations, and par1> 
ing scenes of tender lovers, also bear evidence 
of having been frequently read, and are scored 
and marked with notes of admiration, and have 
initials written on the margins ; most of which 
annotations have the day of the month and year 
annexed to them. Several of the windows, too, 
have scraps of poetry engraved on them with dia- 
monds, taken from the writings of the fair Mrs. 
Philips, the once celebrated Orinda. Some of 
these seem to have been inscribed by lovers ; and, 
others, in a delicate and unsteady hand, and a 
little inaccurate in th*. spelling, have evidently 
been written by the young ladies themselves, or 
by female friends, who have been on visits to the 
Hall. Mrs. Philips seems to have been their fa- 
vorite author, and they have distributed the names 
of her heroes and heroines among their circle of 
intimacy. Sometimes, in a male hand, the verse 
bewails the cruelty of beauty, and the sufferings 
of constant love ; while in a female hand it pru- 
dishly confines itself to lamenting the parting of 
female friends. The bow-window of my bed- 
room, which has, doubtless, been inhabited by one 
of these beauties, has several of these inscrip- 
tions. I have one at this moment before my 
eyes, called " Camilla parting with Leonora " : 

" How perished is the joy that 's past, 
The present how unsteady ! 
What comfort can be great and last, 
Whei this is gone already? " 



FAMILY RELICS, 49 

Arid close by it is another, written, perhaps, by 
some adventurous lover, who had stolen into the 
lady's chamber during her absence. 

"THEODOSIUS to CAMILLA. 

IM rather in your favor live 

Than in a lasting name ; 
And much a greater rate would give 

For happiness than fame. 

Theodosius, 1700." 

When I look at these faint records of gallan- 
try and tenderness ; when I contemplate the fad- 
ing portraits of these beautiful girls, and think too 
that they have long since bloomed, reigned, grown 
old, died, and passed away, and with them all 
their graces, their triumphs, their rivalries, their 
admirers ; the whole empire of love and pleasure 
in which they ruled — '' all dead, all buried, all 
forgotten," I find a cloud of melancholy stealing 
over the present gayeties around me. I was gaz- 
ing, in a musing mood, this very morning, at the 
portrait of the lady whose husband was killed 
abroad, when the fair Julia entered the gallery, 
leaning on the arm of the captain. The sun 
shone through the row of windows on her as she 
passed along, and she seemed to beam out each 
time into brightness, and relapse into shade, until 
the door at the bottom of the gallery closed after 
her. I felt a sadness of heart at the idea, that 
this was an emblem of her lot : a few more years 
of sunshine and shade, and all this life, and love- 
liness, and enjoyment will have ceased, and noth 
ing be left to commemorate this beautiful being 
4 



50 



BKACEBRIDGE HALL. 



but one more perishable portrait ; to awaken, 
perhaps, the trite speculations of some future loi- 
terer, like myself, when I and my scribblings 
shall have lived through our brief existence, Lnd 
been forgotten. 




AN OLD SOLDIER. 

I've worn some leather out abroad ; let out a heathen soul or two ; 
fed this good sword with the black blood of pagan Christians ; con- 
verted a few infidels with it. — But let that pass. — The Ordinary. 




HE Hall was thrown into some little 
agitation, a few days since, by the ar- 
rival of General Harbottle. He had 
been expected for several days, and looked for, 
rather impatiently, by several of the family. 
Master Simon assured me that I would like the 
general hugely, for he was a blade of the old 
school, and an excellent table-companion. Lady 
Lillycraft, also, appeared to be somewhat fluttered 
on the morning of the general's arrival, for he 
had been one of her early admirers ; and she rec- 
ollected him only as a dashing young ensign, just 
come upon the town. She actually spent an 
hour longer at her toilette, and made her appear- 
ance with her hair uncommonly frizzed and pow- 
dered, and an additional quantity of rouge. She 
was evidently a little surprised and shocked, 
therefore, at finding the lithe dashing ensign 
transformed into a corpulent old general, with a 
double chin ; though it was a perfect picture to 
witness their salutations, the graciousness of her 
profound courtesy, and the air of the old school 



52 BRACEBRWGE HALL, 

with which the general took off his hat, swayed ii 
gently in his hand, and bowed his powdered 
head. 

All this bustle and anticipation has caused me 
to study the general with a little more attention 
than, perhaps, I should otherwise have done ; and 
the few days that he has already passed at the 
Hall have enabled me, I think, to furnish a toler- 
able likeness of him to the reader. 

He is, as Master Simon observed, a soldier of 
the old school, wdth powdered head, side-locks, 
and pigtail. His face is shaped like the stern of 
a Dutch man-of-war, narrow at top, and wide at 
bottom, with full rosy cheeks and a double chin ; 
so that, to use the cant of the day, his organs of 
eating may be said to be powerfully developed. 

The general, though a veteran, has seen very 
little active service, except the taking of Sering- 
apatam, which forms an era in his history. He 
wears a large emerald in his bosom, and a dia- 
mond on his finger, which he got on that occa- 
sion, and whoever is unlucky enough to notice 
either, is sure to involve himself in the whole 
history of the siege. To judge from the gen- 
eral's conversation, the taking of Seringapatam is 
the most important affair that has occurred for the 
last century. 

On the approach of warlike times on the Conti- 
nent, he was rapidly promoted to get him out of 
the way of younger officers of merit ; until, hav- 
ing been hoisted to the rank of general, he was 
quietly laid on the shelf. Since that time his 
campaigns have been principally confined to wa- 



AN OLD SOLDIER, 53 

tering-places ; where he drinks the waters for a 
slight touch of the liver which he got in India ; 
and plays whist with old dowagers, with whom 
he has flirted in his younger days. Indeed, he 
talks of all the fine women of the last half cen- 
tury, and, according to hints which he now and 
then drops, has enjoyed the particular smiles of 
many of them. 

He has seen considerable garrison duty, and 
can speak of almost every place famous for good 
quarters, and where the inhabitants give good din- 
ners. He is a diner-out of first-rate currency, 
when in town ; being invited to one place be- 
cause he has been seen at another. In the same 
way he is invited about the country-seats, and 
can describe half the seats in the kingdom, from 
actual observation ; nor is any one better versed 
in court gossip, and the pedigrees and intermar- 
riages of the nobility. 

As the general is an old bachelor, and an old 
beau, and there are several ladies at the Hall, 
especially his quondam flame Lady Lillycraft, he 
is put rather upon his gallantry. He commonly 
passes some time, therefore, at his toilette, and 
takes the field at a late hour every morning, with 
his hair dressed out and powdered, and a rose in 
his button-hole. After he has breakfasted, he 
walks up and down the terrace in the sunshine, 
humming an air, and hemming between every 
stave, carrying one hand behind his back, and 
with the other touching his cane to the ground, 
and then raising it up to his shoulder. Should 
he, m these morning promenades, meet any of the 



54 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

elder ladies of the family, as he frequently does 
Lady Lilly craft, his hat is immediately in his 
hand, and it is enough to remind one of those 
courtly groups of ladies and gentlemen, in old 
prints of Windsor Terrace, or Kensington Garden. 
He talks frequently about '' the service," and is 
fond of humming the old song, 

" Why, soldiers, why. 
Should we be melancholy, boys ? 
Why, soldiers, why, 
Whose business 't is to die ! " 

I cannot discover, however, that the general has 
ever run any great risk of dying, excepting from 
an apoplexy or an indigestion. He criticises all 
the battles on the Continent, and discusses the 
merits of the commanders, but never fails to 
bring the conversation, ultimately, to Tippoo Saib 
and Seringapatam. I am told that the general 
was a perfect champion at drawing-rooms, parades, 
and watering-places, during the late war, and was 
looked to with hope and confidence by many an 
old lady, when laboring under the terror of Bona- 
parte's invasion. 

He is thoroughly loyal, and attends punctually 
on levees when in town. He has treasured up 
many remarkable sayings of the late king, par- 
ticularly one which the king made to him on a 
field-day, complimenting him on the excellence of 
his horse. He extols the whole royal family, but 
especially the present king, whom he pronounces 
the most perfect gentleman and best whist-player 
in Europe. The general swears ratlier more than 
is the fashion at the present day ; but it was the 



AN OLD SOLDIER. 55 

mode in the old school. He is, however, very 
Btrict in religious matters, and a stanch church- 
man. He repeats the responses very loudly in 
church, and is emphatical in praying for the king 
and royal family. 

At table his royalty waxes very fervent with 
his second bottle, and the song of " God save the 
King " puts him into a perfect ecstasy. He is 
amazingly well contented with the present state 
of things, and apt to get a little impatient at any 
talk about national ruin and agricultural distress. 
He says he has travelled about the country as 
much as any man, and has met with nothing but 
prosperity ; and to confess the truth, a great part 
of his time is spent in visiting from one country- 
seat to another, and riding about the parks of his 
friends. " They talk of public distress," said the 
general this day to me, at dinner, as* he smacked 
a glass of rich burgundy, and cast his eyes 
about the ample board ; " they talk of public 
distress, but where do we find it, sir? I see 
none. I see no reason any one has to comj)lain. 
Take my word for it, sir, this talk about public 
distress is all humbuor ! " 




THE WIDOWS RETINUE. 

Little dogs and all ! 

Leab. 

PN giving an account of the arrival of 
Lady Lillycraft at the Hall, I ought to 
have mentioned the entertainment which 
I derived from witnessing the unpacking of her 
carriage, and the disposing of her retinue. There 
is something extremely amusing to me in the 
number of factitious wants, the loads of imagi- 
nary conveniences, but real incumbrances, with 
which the luxurious are apt to burden them- 
selves. I like to watch the whimsical stir and 
display about one of these petty progresses. The 
number of robustious footmen and retainers of 
all kinds bustling about, with looks of infinite 
gravity and importance, to do almost nothing. 
The number of heavy trunks, and parcels, and 
bandboxes belonging to my lady ; and the solici- 
tude exhibited about some humble, odd-looking 
box, by my lady's maid ; the cushions piled in 
the carriage to make a soft seat still softer, and 
to prevent the dreaded possibihty of a jolt ; the 
smelling-bottles, the cordials, the baskets of bis- 
cuit and fruit ; the new publications ; all pro- 
vided to guard against hunger, fatigue, or ennui • 



THE WIDOWS RETINUE. 57 

the led horses to vary the mode of traveUing 
and all this preparation and parade to move, per 
haps, some very good-for-nothing personage about 
a little space of earth ! 

I do not mean to apply the latter part of these 
observations to Lady Lillycraft, for whose simple 
kind-heartedness I have a very great respect, and 
who is really a most amiable and worthy being. 
I cannot refrain, however, from mentioning some 
of the motley retinue she has brought with her ; 
and which, indeed, bespeak the overflowing kind- 
ness of her nature, which requires her to be sur- 
rounded with objects on which to lavish it. 

In the first place, her ladyship has a pampered 
coachman, with a red face, and cheeks that hang 
down like dew-laps. He evidently domineers 
over her a little with respect to the fat horses ; 
and only drives out when he thinks proper, and 
when he thinks it will be " good for the cattle." 

She has a favorite page to attend upon her 
person : a handsome boy of about twelve years 
of age, but a mischievous varlet, very much 
spoiled, and in a fair way to be good for nothing. 
He is dressed in green, with a profusion of gold 
cord and gilt buttons about his clothes. She 
always has one or two attendants of the kind, 
who are replaced by others as soon as they grow 
to fourteen years of age. She has brought two 
dogs with her, also, out of a number of pets 
which she maintains at home. One is a fat span- 
iel called . Zephyr — though heaven defend me 
from such a zephyr ! He is fed out of all shape 
and comfort ; his eyes are nearly strained out of 



58 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

his head ; he wheezes with corpulency, and cau« 
not walk without great difficulty. The other is a 
little, old, gray muzzled curmudgeon, with an un* 
happy eye, that kindles like a coal if you only 
look at him ; his nose turns up ; his mouth is 
drawn into wrinkles, so as to show his teeth : in 
short, he has altogether the look of a dog far 
gone in misanthropy, and totally sick of the world. 
When he walks, he has his tail curled up so tight 
that it seems to lift his feet from the ground ; 
and he seldom makes use of more than three legs 
at a time, keeping the other dra^n up as a re- 
serve. This last wretch is called Beauty. 

These dogs are full of elegant ailments un- 
known to vulgar dogs ; and are petted and nursed 
by Lady Lillycraft with the tenderest kindness. 
They are pampered and fed with delicacies by 
their fellow-minion, the page ; but their stomachs 
are often weak and out of order, so that they 
cannot eat ; though I have now and then seen 
the page give them a mischievous pinch, or 
thwack over the head, when his mistress was not 
by. They have cushions for their express use, on 
which they lie before the fire, and yet are apt to 
shiver and moan if there is the least draught of 
air. When any one enters the room, they make 
a tyrannical barking that is absolutely deafening. 
They are insolent to all the other dogs of the 
establishment. There is a noble stag-hound, a 
great favorite of the Squire's, who is a privileged 
visitor to the parlor ; but the moment he makes 
his appearance, these intruders fly at him with 
furious rage ; and I have admired the Bovereign 



THE WIDOW'S RETINUE. 51) 

indifference and contempt with Avhich he seems 
to look down upon his puny assailants. When 
her ladyship drives out, these dogs are generally 
carried with her to take the air; when they look 
out of each window of the carriage, and bark at 
all vulgar pedestrian dogs. These dogs are a 
continual source of misery to the household: as 
they are always in the way, they every now and 
then get their toes trod on, and then there is a 
yelping on their part, and a loud lamentation on 
the part of their mistress, that fill the room with 
clamor and confusion. 

Lastly, there is her ladyship's waiting-gentle- 
woman, Mrs. Hannah, a prim, pragmatical old 
maid ; one of the most intolerable and intolerant 
virgins that ever lived. She has kept her vir- 
tue by her until it has turned sour, and now 
every word and look smacks of verjuice. She is 
the very opposite to her mistress, for one hates, 
and the other loves, all mankind. How they 
first came together I cannot imagine ; but they 
have lived together for many years ; and the abi- 
gaiFs temper being tart and encroaching, and her 
ladyship's easy and yielding, the former has got 
the complete upperhand, and tyrannizes over the 
good lady in secret. 

Lady Lillycraft now and then complains of it, 
in great confidence, to her friends, but hushes up 
the subject immediately, if Mrs. Hannah makes 
her appearance. Indeed, she has been so accus- 
tomed to be attended by her, that she thinks she 
could not do without her ; though one great study 
of her life is to keep Mrs. Hannah in good humor 
by little presents and kindnesses. 



60 



BRACEBRWGE HALL. 



Master Simon has a most devout abhorrence, 
mingled with awe, for this arcient spinster. He 
told me the other day, in a whisper, that she was 
a cursed brimstone, — in fact, he added another 
epithet, which I would not repeat for the world. 
I have remarked, however, that he is always ex 
tremely civil to her when they meet. 



READY-MONEY JACK. 

My purse, it is my privy wyfe, 
This song I dare both syng and say, 
It keepeth men from grieyous stryfe 
When every man for hymself shall pay 
As I ryde in ryche array 
For gold and silver men wyll me floryshe ; 
By thys matter I dare well saye, 
Ever gramercy myne owne purse. 

Book of Huntino. 




N the skirts of the neighboring village 
there lives a kind of small potentate, 
who, for aught I know, is a representa- 
tive of one of the most ancient legitimate lines 
of the present day ; for the empire over which 
he reigns has belonged to his family time out of 
mind. His territories comprise a considerable 
number of good fat acres ; and his seat of power 
is in an old farm-house, where he enjoys, unmo- 
lested, the stout oaken chair of his ancestors. 
The personage to whom I allude is a sturdy old 
yeoman of the name of John Tibbets, or ratht^r 
Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, as he is called 
throughout the neighborhood. 

The first place where he attracted my attention 
>vas in the church-yard on Sunday; where he 
Bat on a tombstone after the service, with his 



62 BRACEBRWGE HALL. 

hat a little on one side, holding forth to a ^maU 
circle of auditors ; and, as I presumed, expound 
ing the law and the prophets ; until, on drawing 
a little nearer, I found he was only expatiating 
on the merits of a brown horse. He presented 
so faithful a picture of a substantial English yeo- 
man, such as he is often described in books, height- 
ened, indeed, by some little finery peculiar to 
himself, that I could not but take note of his 
whole appearance. 

He was between fifty and sixty, of a strong, 
muscular frame, and at least six feet high, with a 
physiognomy as grave as a lion's, and set off with 
short, curling, iron-gray locks. His shirt-collar 
was turned down, and displayed a neck covered 
with the same short, curling, gray hair ; and he 
wore a colored silk neck-cloth, tied very loosely, 
and tucked in at the bosom, with a green paste 
brooch on the knot. His coat was of dark-green 
cloth, with silver buttons, on each of which was 
engraved a stag, with his own name, John Tib- 
bets, underneath. He had an inner waistcoat of 
figured chintz, between which and his coat was 
another of scarlet cloth, unbuttoned. His breeches 
were also left unbuttoned at the knees, not from 
any slovenliness, but to show a broad pair of 
scarlet garters. His stockings were blue, with 
white clocks ; he wore large silver shoe-buckles ; 
a broad paste buckle in his hatband ; his sleeve- 
buttons were gold seven-shilling pieces ; and he 
had two or three guineas hanging as ornaments 
to his watch-chain. 

On making some inquiries about him, I gath- 



KEADY-MUNEY JACK 63 

ered, that he was descended from a line of farmers 
that had always lived on the same spot, and owned 
the same property ; and that half of the church- 
yard was taken up with the tombstones of his race. 
He has all his life been an important character 
in the place. When a youngster he was one of 
the most roaring blades of the neighborhood. 
No one could match him at wrestling, pitching 
the bar, cudgel play, and other athletic exercises. 
Like the renowned Pinner of Wakefield, he was 
the village champion ; carried oflf the prize at all 
the fairs, and threw his gauntlet at the country 
round. Even to this day the old people talk of 
his prowess, and undervalue, in comparison, all 
heroes of the green that have succeeded him ; nay, 
they say, that if Ready-Money Jack were to take 
the field even now, there is no one could stand 
before him. 

When Jack's father died, the neighbors shook 
their heads, and predicted that young hopeful 
would soon make way with the old homestead ; 
but Jack falsified all their predictions. The mo- 
ment he succeeded to the paternal farm, he assumed 
a new character : took a wife ; attended resolutely 
to his affairs, and became an industrious, thrifty 
farmer. With the family property he inherited 
a set of old family maxims, to which he steadily 
adhered. He saw to everything himself ; put his 
own hand to the plough ; worked hard ; ate 
heartily ; slept soundly ; paid for everythnig in 
cash down ; and never danced except he could do 
it to the music of his own money in both pockets. 
He has never been without a hundred or two 



64 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

pounds in gold by him, and never allows & debt 
to stand unpaid. This has gained him hir- cur- 
rent name, of which, by the by, he is a /ittle 
proud ; and has caused him to be looked upon 
a^ a very wealthy man by all the village. 

Notwithstanding his thrift, however, h\z has 
never denied himself the amusements of li^ but 
has taken a share in every passing pleasure. It 
is his maxim, that " he that works hard can af- 
ford to play." He is, therefore, an attendant at 
all the country fairs and wakes, and has Signal- 
ized himself by feats of strength and prowess on 
every village green in the shire. He often makes 
his appearance at horse-races, and sports his half- 
guinea, and even his guinea at a time ; keeps a 
good horse for his own riding, and to this day is 
fond of following the hounds, and is generally in 
at the death. He keeps up the rustic revels, and 
hospitalities too, for which his paternal farm-house 
has always been noted ; has plenty of good cheer 
and dancing at harvest-home, and, above all, keeps 
the " merry night," ^ as it is termed, at Christ- 
mas. 

With all his love of amusement, however, Jack 
is by no means a boisterous jovial companion. 
He is seldom known to laugh even in the midst 
of his gayety ; but maintains the same grave, 
lion-like demeanor. He is very slow at compre- 

* Merry Night. A rustic merry aiaking in a farm-house 
about Christmas, common in some parts of Yorkshire. There 
is abundance of homely fare, tea, cakes, fruit, and ale ; various 
feats of agility, amusing games, romping, dancing, and kiss- 
ing withal. They common'y break up at midnight. 



READY^MONEr JACK. 65 

bending a joke ; and is apt to sit puzzling at it, 
with a peiplexed look, while the rest of the com- 
pany is in a roar. This gravity has, perhaps, 
grown on him with the growing weight of his 
character ; for he is gradually rising into patri- 
archal dignity in his native place. Though he no 
longer takes an active part in athletic sports, he 
always presides at them, and is appealed to on all 
occasions as umpire. He maintains the peace on 
the village green at holiday games, and quells all 
brawls and quarrels by collaring the parties and 
shaking them heartily, if refractory. No one 
ever pretends to raise a hand against him, or to 
contend against his decisions ; the young men 
have grown up in habitual awe of his prowess, 
and in implicit deference to him as the champion 
and lord of the green. 

He is a regular frequenter of the village inn, 
the landlady having been a sweetheart of his in 
early life, and he having always continued on kind 
terms with her. He seldom, however, drinks any- 
thing but a draught of ale ; smokes his pipe, and 
pays his reckoning before leaving the tap-room. 
Here he " gives his little senate laws " ; decides 
bets, which are very generally referred to him ; 
determines upon the characters and qualities of 
horses ; and, indeed, plays now and then the part 
of a judge, in settling petty disputes between 
neighbors, which otherwise might have been nursed 
by country attorneys into tolerable law-suits. 
Jaclc is very candid and impartial in his decisions, 
but he has not a head to carry a long argument, 
and is very apt to get perplexed and out of pa- 
5 



66 BRACEBRIDQE HALL. 

tience if there is much pleading. He generally 
breaks throuf^fh the argument with a stronor v^oice, 
and brings matters to a summary conchision by 
pronouncing what he calls the " upshot of the 
business," or, in other words, " the long and the 
short of the matter." 

Jack made a journey to London a great many 
years since, which has furnished him with topics 
of conversation ever since. He saw the old king 
on the terrace at Windsor, who stopped, and 
pointed him out to one of the princesses, being 
probably struck with Jack's truly yeomanlike ap- 
pearance. This is a favorite anecdote with him, 
and has no doubt had a great effect in making 
him a most loyal subject ever since, in spite of 
taxes and poors' rates. He was also at Bartholo- 
mew fair, where he had half the buttons cut off" 
his coat ; and a gang of pickpockets, attracted by 
his external show of gold and silver, made a reg- 
ular attempt to hustle him as he was gazing at 
a show ; but for once they caught a tartar, for 
Jack enacted as great wonders among the gang 
as Samson did among the Philistines. One of 
his neighbors, who had accompanied him to town, 
and was with him at the fair, brought back an 
account of his exploits, which raised the pride of 
the whole village ; who considered their cham- 
pion as having subdued all London, and eclipsed 
the achievements of Friar Tuck, or even the re- 
nowned Robin Hood himself. 

Of late years the old fellow has begun to take 
the world easily ; he works less, and indulges in 
greater leisure, his son having grown up. and sue." 



RE A D Y-M ONE Y J A CK. 67 

seeded to him both in the labors of the farra 
and the exploits of the green. Like all sons of 
distinguished men, however, his father's renown 
is a disadvantage to him, for he can never come 
np to public expectation. Though a fine active 
fellow of three-and-twenty, and quite the " cock 
of the walk," yet the old people declare he is 
nothing like what Ready-Money Jack was at his 
time of life. The youngster himself acknowledges 
his inferiority, and has a wonderful opinion of the 
old man, who indeed taught him all his athletic 
a'ccomplishments, and holds such a sway over him, 
that, I am told, even to this day, he would have 
no hesitation to take him in hands, if he rebelled 
against paternal government. 

The Squire holds Jack in very high esteem, 
and shows him to all his visitors, as a specimen of 
old English " heart of oak." He frequently calls 
at his house, and tastes some of his home-brewed, 
which is excellent. He made Jack a present of 
old Tusser's " Hundred Points of good Husband- 
rie," which has furnished him with reading ever 
since, and is his text-book and manual in all agri- 
cultural and domestic concerns. He has made 
dog's ears at the most favorite passages, and 
knows many of the poetical maxims by heart. 

Tibbets, though not a man to be daunted or 
fluttered by high acquaintances, and though he 
cherishes a sturdy independence of mind and man- 
ner, yet is evidently gratified by the attentions of 
the Squire, whom he has known from boyhood, 
and pronounces " a true gentleman every inch of 
him." He is, also, on excellent terms with Mas* 



68 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 



ter Simon, who is a kind of privy counsellor to 
the family ; but his great favorite is the Oxonian, 
whom he taught to wrestle and play at quarter- 
staff when a boy, and considers the most promift 
ing young gentleman in the whole county. 




BACHELORS. 

The Bachelor most joyfully 

Id pleasant plight dotb pass his dales 
Qoodfellowsbip and companie 

lie doth maintain and keep alwaies. 

Evan's Old Ballads. 




HERE is no character in the comedy of 
human life more difficult to play well 
than that of an old Bachelor. When a 
single gentleman, therefore, arrives at that criti- 
cal period when he begins to consider it an imper- 
tinent question to be asked his age, I would ad- 
vise him to look well to his ways. This period, 
it is true, is much later with some men than with 
others ; I have witnessed more than once the 
meeting of two wrinkled old lads of this kind, 
who had not seen each for several years, and 
have been amused by the amicable exchange of 
compliments on each other's appearance that takes 
place on such occasions. There is always one 
invariable observation : " Why, bless my soul ! 
you look younger than when last I saw you ! " 
Whenever a man's friends begin to compUment 
him about looking young, he may be sure that 
they think he is growing old. 

I am led to make these remarks by the fcnduct 



70 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

of Master Simon and the general, who have be- 
come great cronies. As the former is the young- 
est by many years, he is regarded as quite a 
youthful blade by the general, who, moreover, 
looks upon him as a man of great wit and pro- 
digious acquirements. 1 have already hinted 
that Master Simon is a family beau, and consid- 
ered ratlier a young fellow by all the elderly la- 
dies of the connection ; for an old bachelor, in an 
old family connection, is something like an actor 
in a regular dramatic corps, who seems to " flour- 
ish in immortal youth," and will continue to play 
the Romeos and Rangers for half a century to- 
gether. 

Master Simon, too, is a little of the chameleon, 
and takes a different hue with every different 
companion : he is very attentive and officious, and 
somewhat sentimental, with Lady Lilly craft ; cop- 
ies out little namby-pamby ditties and love-songs 
for her, and draws quivers, and doves, and darts, 
and Cupids to be worked on the corners of her 
pocket-handkerchiefs. He indulges, however, in 
very considerable latitude with the other married 
ladies of the family; and has many sly pleasant- 
ries to whisper to them, that provoke an equivo- 
cal laugh and a tap of the fan. But when he 
gets among young company, such as Frank Brace- 
bridge, the Oxonian, and the general, he is apt to 
put on the mad wag, and to talk in a very bache- 
lor-like strain about the sex. 

In this he has been encouraged by the exam- 
ple of the general, whom he looks up to as a man 
that has seen the world. The p-eneral, in fact^ 



BACHELORS. 71 

tells slijckiijg stories after dinner, when the la 
dies have retired, which he gives as some of the 
choice things that are served up at the MuUi- 
gatawnej club — a knot of boon companions iij 
London. He also repeats the fat jokes of old 
Major Pendergast, the wit of the club, and which, 
though the gentleman can hardly repeat them for 
laughing, always make Mr. Bracebridge look 
grave, he having a great antipathy to an indecent 
jest. In a word, the general is a complete instance 
of the declension in gay life, by which a young 
man of pleasure is apt to cool down into an ob- 
scene old gentleman. 

I saw him and Master Simon, an evening or 
two since, conversing with a buxom milkmaid in 
a meadow ; and from their elbowing each other 
now and then, and the general's shaking his shoul- 
ders, blowing up his cheeks, and breaking out 
into a short fit of irrepressible laughter, I had no 
doubt they were playing the mischief with the girl. 

As I looked at them through a hedge, I could 
not but think they would have made a tolerable 
group for a modern picture of Susannah and the 
two elders. It is true, the girl seemed in no 
wise alarmed at the force of the enemy ; and I 
question, had either of them been alone, whether 
she would not have been more than they would 
have ventured to encounter. Such veteran rois- 
ters are daring wags when together, and will put 
any female to the blush with their jokes ; but 
they are as quiet as lambs when they fall singly 
into the clutches of a fine woman. 

In spite of the general's years, he evidently is 



72 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

a little vain of his person, and ambitious of con- 
quests. I have observed him on Sunday in 
church, eying the country girls most suspicic us- 
ly ; and have seen him leer upon them with a 
downright amorous look, even when he has been 
gallanting Lady Lilly craft, with great ceremony, 
through the church-yard. The general, in fact, 
is a veteran in the service of Cupid rather than 
of Mars, having signalized himself hi all the gar- 
rison towns and country quarters, and seen ser- 
vice in every ball-room of England. Not a cel- 
ebrated beauty but he has laid siege to ; and if 
his word may be taken in a matter wherein no 
man is apt to be over-veracious, it is incredible 
the success he has had with the fair. At present 
he is like a worn-out warrior, retired from ser- 
vice, but who still cocks his beaver with a mili- 
tary air, and talks stoutly of fighting whenever 
he comes within the smell of gunpowder. 

I have heard him speak his mind very freely 
over his bottle, about the folly of the captain in 
taking a wife ; as he thinks a young soldier 
should care for nothing but his " bottle and kind 
landlady." But, in fact, he says, the service on 
the Continent has had a sad effect upon the young 
men ; they have been ruined by light wines and 
French quadrilles. " They 've nothing," he says, 
" of the spirit of the old service. There are none 
of your six-bottle men left, that were the souls 
of a mess-dinner, and used to play the very deuce 
Bmong the women." 

As to a bachelor, the general affirms that he is 
a free and easy man, with no baggage to take 



BACHELORS, 73 

care of but his portmanteau ; but a married man, 
with his wife hanging on his arm, always puts 
him in mind of a chamber-candlestick, with its 
extinguisher hitched to it. I should not mind all 
this if it were merely confined to the general ; 
but I fear he will be the ruin of my friend, Mas- 
ter Simon, who already begins to echo his here- 
sies, and to talk in the style of a gentleman that 
has seen life, and lived upon the town. Indeed, 
the general seems to have taken Master Simon 
in hand, and talks of showing him the lions when 
he comes to town, and of introducing him to a 
knot of choice spirits at the Mulligatawney club ; 
which, I understand, is composed of old nabobs, 
officers in the Company's employ, and other " men 
of Ind," that have seen service ir. the East, and 
returned home burnt out with curry, and touched 
with the liver-complaint. They have their reg- 
ular club, where they eat Mulligatawney soup, 
smoke the hookah, talk about Tippoo Saib, Ser- 
ingapatam, and tiger-hunting ; and are tediously 
Bgreeable in each other's company. 





WIVES. 

Believe me, man, there is no greater blisse 
Than is the quiet joy of loving wife ; 
"Which whoso wants, half of himselfe doth misse ; 
Friend without change, playfellow without strife; 
Food without fulnesse, counsaile without pride, 
Is this sweet doubling of our single life. 

Sir p. Sidney. 

I HE RE is so much talk about matrimony 
going on around me, in consequence 
of the approaching event for which we 
are assembled at the Hall, that I confess I find 
my thoughts singularly exercised on the subject. 
Indeed, all the bachelors of the establishment seem 
to be passing through a kind of fiery ordeal ; for 
Lady Lillycraft is one of those tender, romance- 
read dames of the old school, Miose mind is filled 
with flames and darts, and who breathe nothins: 
but constancy and wedlock. She is forever im- 
mersed in the concerns of the heart, and, to use 
a poetical phrase, is perfectly surrounded by " the 
purple light of love." The very general seems to 
feel the influence of this sentimental atmosphere, 
to melt as he approaches her ladyship, and, for 
the time, to forget all his heresies about matri- 
mony and the sex. 

The good lady is generally surrounded by little 



WIVES, 75 

documents of her prevalent taste: novels of a 
tender nature ; richly-bound little books of poe- 
try, that are filled with sonnets and love-tales, 
and perfumed with rose-leaves ; and she has al- 
ways an album at hand, for which she claims the 
contributions of all her friends. On looking 
over this last repository the other day, I found a 
series of poetical extracts, in the Squire's hand- 
writing, which might have been intended as mat- 
rimonial hints to his ward. I was so much struck 
with several of them, that I took the liberty of 
copying them out. They are from the old play 
of Thomas Davenport, published in 1G61, entitled 
" The City Night-Cap " ; in which is drawn out 
and exemplified, in the part of Abstemia, the 
character of a patient and faithful wife, which I 
think might vie with that of the renowned Gri- 
selda. 

I have often thought it a pity that plays and 
novels should always end at the wedding, and 
should not give us another act, and another vol- 
ume, to let us know how the hero and heroine 
conducted themselves when married. Their main 
object seems to be merely to instruct young ladies 
how to get husbands, but not how to keep them: 
now this last, I speak it with all due difiidence, 
stppears to me to be a desideratum in modern 
married life. It is appalling to those who have 
not }'et adventured into the holy state, to see how 
soon the flame of romantic love burns out, or 
rather is quenched in matrimony ; and how de- 
plorably the passionate poetic lover declines into 
the phlegmatic, prosaic husband. I am inclined 



76 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

to attribute this very much to the defect just men* 
tioned in the plays and novels, which form so im- 
portant a branch of study of our young ladies, 
and which teach them how to be heroines, but 
leave them totally at a loss when they come to 
be wives. The play from which the quotations 
before me were made, however, is an exception 
to this remark ; and I cannot refuse myself the 
pleasure of adducing some of them for the benefit 
of the reader, and for the honor of an old writer, 
who has bravely attempted to awaken dramatic 
interest in favor of a woman, even after she was 
married ! 

The following is a commendation of Abstemia 
to her husband Lorenzo : 

" She 's modest, but not sullen, and loves silence; 
Not that she wants apt words, (for when she speaks, 
She inflames love with wonder,) but because 
She calls wise silence the soul's harmony. 
She 's truly chaste ; yet such a foe to coyness, 
The poorest call her courteous ; and which is excellent 
(Though fair and young) she shuns to expose herself 
To the opinion of strange eyes. She either seldom 
Or never walks abroad in your company. 
And then with such sweet bashfulness, as if 
She were venturing on crack' d ice, and takes delight 
To step into the print your foot hath made. 
And will follow you whole fields; so she will drive 
Tediousness out of time with her sweet character." 

Notwithstanding all this excellence, Abstemia 
had the misfortune to incur the unmerited Jeal 
ousy of her husband. Instead, however, of le- 
senting his harsh treatment with clamorous up* 
braidings, and wntK the stormy violence of high» 



WIVES. 7? 

windj virtue, by which the sparks of anger are 
BO often blown into a flame, she endures it with 
the meekness of conscious, but patient virtue ; 
and makes the following beautiful appeal to a 
friend who has witnessed her long-suffering • 

" Hast thou not seen me 

Bear all his injuries, as the ocean suffers 

The angry bark to plough thorough her bosom. 

And yet is presently so smooth, the eye 

Cannot perceive where the wide wound was made? " 

Lorenzo, being wrought on by false representa- 
tions, at length repudiates her. To the last, how- 
ever, she maintains her patient sweetness, and her 
love for him, in spite of his cruelty. She de- 
plores his error, even more than his unkindness ; 
and laments the delusion which has turned his 
very affection into a source of bitterness. There 
is a moving pathos in her parting address to Lo- 
renzo after their divorce : 



■ " Farewell, Lorenzo, 



Whom my soul doth love: if you e'er many, 
May you meet a good wife, so good that you 
May not suspect her, nor may she be worthy 
Of your suspicion: and if you hear hereafter 
That I am dead, inquire but my last words, 
And you shall know that to the last I loved you. 
And when you walk forth with your second choice 
Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me, 
Imagine that you see me, lean and pale, 

Strewing your path with flowers 

But may she never live to pay my debts: 

If but in thought she wrong you, may she die 

In th3 conception of the injury. 

Pray make me wealthy with one kiss: farewell, bit: 

Let il not grieve you when you shall remember 

That I was innocent: nor this forget, 



7h BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

Though innocence here suffer sigh, and groan, 
She walks but thorow thorns to tind a throne.'* 

In a short time Lorenzo discovers his error 
and the innocence of his injured wife. In tha 
transports of liis repentance he calls to mind all 
her feminine excellence; her gentle, uncomplain* 
ing, womanly fortitude under wrongs and sor- 
rows : 

" Oh Abstemia! 



How lovely thou lookest now ! now thou appearest 
Chaster than is the morning's modesty 
That rises with a blush, over whose bosom 
The western wind creeps softly; now I remember 
How, when she sat at table, her obedient eye 
Would dwell on mine, as if it were not well. 
Unless it look'd where I look'd: oh how proud 
She was, when she could cross herself to please me! 
But where now is this fair soul ? Like a silver cloud 
She hath wept herself, I fear, into the dead sea, 
And will be foimd no more." 

It is but doing right by the reader, if interested 
in the fate of Abstemia by the preceding extracts, 
to say, that she was restored to the arms and 
affections of her husband, rendered fonder than 
ever, by that disposition in every good heart to 
atone ibr past injustice, by an overflowing meas- 
ure of returning kindness : 

*' Thou wealth worth more than kingdoms; I am now 
Confirmed past all suspicion ; thou art far 
Sweeter in thy sincere truth than a sacrifice 
Deck'd up for death with garlands. The Indian winds 
That blow from off the coast, and cneer the sailor 
With the sweet savor of their spices, want 
The delight flows in thee." 



wiV£S. 79 

I have been more affected and interested by 
this little dramatic picture than by many a pop- 
ular love-tale ; though, as I said before, I do not 
think it likely either Abstemia or patient Grizzle 
stands much chance of being taken for a model. 
Still I like to see poetry now and then extending 
its views beyond the wedding-day, and teaching 
a lady how to make herself attractive even after 
marriage. There is no great need of enforcing 
on an unmarried lady the necessity of being 
agreeable ; nor is there any great art requisite in 
a youthful beauty to enable her to please. Na- 
ture has multiplied attractions around her. 
Youth is in itself attractive. The freshness of 
budding beauty needs no foreign aid to set it off; 
it pleases merely because it is fresh, and budding, 
and beautiful. But it is for the married state 
that a woman needs the most instruction, and in 
which she should be most on her guard to main- 
tain her powers of pleasing. No woman can ex- 
pect to be to her husband all that he fancied her 
when he was a lover. Men are always doomed 
to be duped, not so much by the arts of the sex 
as by their own imaginations. They are always 
wooing goddesses, and marrying mere mortals. 
A. Avoman should therefore ascertain what was 
the charm which rendered her so fascinating when 
a girl, and endeavor to keep it up when she 
^as become a wife. One great thing undoubt- 
edly was, the chariness of herself and her con- 
duct, which an unmarried female always ob- 
serves. She should maintain the same niceness 
tnd reserve in her person and habits, and en- 



80 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

deavor still to preserve a freshness and virgin 
delicacy in the eye of her husband. She should 
remember that the province of woman is to be 
wooed, not to woo ; to be caressed, not to caress. 
Man is an ungrateful being in love ; bounty loses 
instead of winning him. Tlie secret of a wom- 
an's power does not consist so much in giving as 
in withholding. A woman may give up too much 
even to her husband. It is to a thousand little 
delicacies of conduct that she must trust to keep 
alive passion, and to protect herself from that 
dangerous familiarity, that thorough acquaintance 
with every weakness and imperfection incident to 
matrimony. By these means she may still main- 
tain her power, though she has surrendered her 
person, and may continue the romance of love 
even beyond the honey-moon. 

" She that hath a wise husband," says Jeremy 
Taylor, "must entice him to an eternal dearnesse 
by the veil of modesty, and the grave robes of 
chastity, the ornament of meeknesse, and the 
jewels of faith and charity. She must have no 
painting but blushings ; her brightness must be 
purity, and she must shine round about with 
sweetnesses and friendship ; and she shall be 
pleasant while she lives, and desired when she 
dies." 

I have wandered into a rambling series of 
remarks on a trite subject, and a dangerous one 
for a bachelor to meddle with. That I may not, 
however, appear to confine my observations en- 
tirely to the wife, I will conclude with another 
q[uotation from Jeremy Taylor, in which the 



WIVES. 81 

dutiess of Dutn parties are mentioned ; while I 
would recommend his sermon on the marriage 
ring to all those who, wiser than myself, are 
about entering the happy state of wedlock. 

" There is scarce any matter of duty but it 
concerns them both alike, and is only distinguished 
by names, and hath its variety by circumstances 
and little accidents : and what in one is called 
love, in the other is called reverence ; and what 
ill the wife is obedience, the same in the man is 
duty. He provides, and she dispenses ; he gives 
commandments, and she rules by them ; he rules 
her by authority, and she rules him by love ; she 
ought by all means to please him, and he must 
by no means displease her." 




STORY-TELLING. 




FAVORITE evening pastime at the 
Hall, and one which the worthy Squire 
is fond of promoting, is» story-telling, 
" a good old-fashioned fireside amnsement," as he 
terms it. Indeed, I believe he promotes it chiefly 
because it was one of the choice recreations in 
those days of yore when ladies and gentlemen 
were not much in the habit of reading. Be this 
as it may, he will often, at supper-table, when 
conversation flags, call on some one or other of 
the company for a story, as it was formerly the 
custom to call for a song; and it is edifying to 
see the exemplary patience, and even satisfaction, 
with which the good old gentleman will sit and 
listen to some hackneyed tale that he has heard 
for at least a hundred times. 

In this way one evening the current of anec- 
dotes and stories ran upon mysterious personages 
that have figured at ditferent times, and filled the 
world with doubts and conjecture ; such as the 
Wandering Jew, the Man with the Iron Mask, 
who tormented the curiosity of all Europe ; the 
Invisible Girl, and last, though not least, the Pig- 
faced Lady. 

At length one of the company was called upon 



STORY-TELLING. 8S 

who had the most unpromising physiognomy for 
a story-teller that ever I had seen. He was a 
thin, pale, weazen-faced man, extremely nervous, 
who had sat at one corner of the table, shrunk 
up, as it were, into himself, and almost swallowed 
up in the cape of his coat, as a turtle in its shell. 

The very demand seemed to throw him into 
a nervous agitation, yet he did not refuse. IIo 
emerged his head out of his shell, made a few 
odd grimaces and gesticulations, before he could 
get his muscles into order, or his voice under 
command, and then offered to give some account 
of a mysterious personage whom he had recently 
encountered in the course of his travels, and one 
whom he thought fully entitled of being classed 
with the Man with the Iron Mask. 

I was so much stru(*k with his extraordina- 
ry narrative, that I have written it out to the 
best of my recollection, for the amusement of 
the reader. I think it has in it all the elements 
of that mysterious and romantic narrative so 
greedily sought after at the present day 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 

A STAGE-COACH ROMANCE. 

I '11 cross it though it blast me ! 

Hamlet. 




It was a rainy Sunday in the gloomy 
month of November. I had been de- 
tained, in the course of a journey, by 
a slight indisposition, from which I was recover- 
ing ; but was still feverish, and obliged to keep 
within doors all day, in an inn of the small town 
of Derby. A wet Sunday in a country inn ! — 
whoever has had the luck to experience one can 
alone judge of my situation. The rain pattered 
against the casements ; the bells toiled for church 
with a melancholy sound. I went to the win- 
dows in quest of something to amuse the eye ; 
but it seemed as if I had been placed completely 
out of the reach of all amusement. The windows 
of my bedroom looked out among tiled roofs and 
stacks of chimneys, while those of my sitting-room 
commanded a full view of the stable-yard. I 
know of nothing more calculated to make a man 
sick of this world than a stable-yard on a rainy 
day. The place was littered with wet straw that 
had been kicked about by travellers and stable- 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 85 

boys. Li one corner was a stagnant pool of 
water, surrounding an island of muck ; there 
were several half-drowned fowls crowded together 
under a cart, among which was a miserable, crest- 
fallen cock, drenched out of all life and spirit; 
his droopmg tail matted, as it were, into a single 
feather, along which the water trickled from his 
back ; near the cart was a half-dozing cow, chew- 
ing the cud, and standing patiently to be rained 
on, with wreaths of vapor rising from her reek- 
ing hide ; a wall-eyed horse, tired of the loneliness 
of the stable, was poking his spectral head out 
of a window, with the rain dripping on it from 
the eaves ; an unhappy cur, chained to a dog- 
house hard by, uttered something, every now and 
then, between a bark and a yelp ; a drab of a 
kitchen-wench tramped backwards and forwards 
through the yard in pattens, looking as sulky as 
the weather itself ; everything, in short, was com- 
fortless and forlorn, excepting a crew of hardened 
ducks, assembled like boon companions round a 
puddle, and making a riotous noise over their 
liquor. 

I was lonely and listless, and wanted amuse- 
ment. My room soon became insupportable. I 
abandoned it, and sought what is technically 
called the travellers'-room. This is a public 
room set apart at most inns for the accommoda- 
tion of a class of wayfarers called travellers, oi 
riders ; a kind of commercial knights-errant, who 
are incessantly scouring the kingdom in gigs, on 
horseback, or by coach. They are the only suc- 
cessors that I know of at the present day to tho 



86 BRACEBRWGE HALL. 

knights-errant of yore. They lead the same 
bind of roving, adventurous life, only changing 
the lance for a driving- whip, the buckler for a 
pattern-card, and the coat of mail for an upper 
Benjamin. Instead of vindicating the charms of 
peerless beauty, they rove about, spreading the 
fame and standing of some substantial tradesman, 
or manufacturer, and are ready at any time to 
bargain in his name ; it being the fashion nowa- 
days to trade, instead of fight, with one another. 
As the room of the hostel, in the good old fight- 
ing-times, would be hung round at night with 
the armor of way-worn warriors, such as coats 
of mail, falchions, and yawning helmets, so the 
trayellers'-room is garnished with the harnessing 
of their successors, with box-coats, whips of all 
kinds, spurs, gaiters, and oil-cloth covered hats. 

I was in hopes of finding some of these wor- 
thies to talk with, but was disappointed. There 
were, indeed, two or three in the room ; but I 
could make nothing of them. One was just fin- 
ishing his breakfast, quarrelling with his bread 
and butter, and huffing the waiter ; another but- 
toned on a pair of gaiters, with many execrations 
at Boots for not having cleaned his shoes well ; 
a third sat drumming on the table with his fin- 
gers and looking at the rain as it streamed down 
the window-glass ; they all appeared infected by 
the weather, and disappeared, one after the other, 
witliout exchanojino^ a word. 

I sauntered to the window, and stood gazing 
at the people, picking their way to church, with 
petticoats hoisted midleg high, and dripping um- 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 87 

brellas. The bell ceased to toll, and the streets 
became silent. I then amused myself with watch- 
ing the daughters of a tradesman opposite ; who, 
being confined to the house for fear of wetting 
their Sunday finery, played off their charms at 
the front windows, to fascinate the chance ten- 
ants of the inn. They at length were summoned 
away by a vigilant vinegar-faced mother, and J 
had nothing further from without to amuse me. 

What was I to do to pass away the long-lived 
day ? I was sadly nervous and lonely ; and 
everything about an inn seems calculated to make 
a dull day ten times duller. Old newspapers, 
smelling of beer and tobacco-smoke, and which 
I had already read half a dozen times. Gc^d- 
for-nothing books, that were worse than raniy 
weather. I bored myself to death with an old 
volume of the Lady's Magazine. I read all the 
commonplace names of ambitious travellers scrawl- 
ed on the panes of glass ; the eternal families of 
the Smiths, and the Browns, and the Jacksons, 
and the Johnsons, and all the other sons ; and I 
deciphered several scraps of fatiguing inn-win- 
dow poetry which I have met with in all parts of 
the world. 

The day continued lowering and gloomy ; the 
slovenly, ragged, spongy cloud drifted heavily 
along ; there was no variety even in the rain : 
it was one dull, continued, monotonous patter — 
patter — patter, excepting that now and then I 
was enlivened by the idea of a brisk shower, 
from the rattling of the drops upon a passing 
umbrella* 



88 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

It was quite refreshing (if I may be allowed a 
hackneyed phrase of the day) when, in the course 
of the morning, a horn blew, and a stage-coach 
whirled through the street, with outside passer; 
gers stuck all over it, cowering mider cotton um- 
brellas, and seethed together, and reeking with 
the steams of wet box-coats and upper Benjamins, 

The sound brought out from their lurking- 
places a crew of vagabond boys, and vagabond 
dogs, and the carroty-headed hostler, and that 
nondescript animal ycleped Boots, and all the 
other vagabond race that infest the purlieus of an 
inn ; but the bustle was transient ; the coach 
again whirled on its way ; and boy and dog, and 
hostler and Boots, all slunk back again to their 
holes ; the street again became silent, and the 
rain continued to rain on. In fact, there was no 
hope of its clearing up ; the barometer pointed to 
rainy weather ; mine hostess's tortoise-shell cat 
sat by the fire washing her face, and rubbing her 
paws over her ears ; and, on referring to the Al- 
manac, I found a direful prediction stretching from 
the top of the page to the bottom through the 
whole month, " expect — much — rain — about — 
this — time ! " 

I was dreadfully hipped. The hours seemed 
as if they would never creep by. The very tick- 
ing of the clock became irksome. At length the 
stillness of the house was interrupted by the ring- 
ing of a bell. Shortly after I heard the voice of 
a waiter at the bar : '' The stout gentleman in 
No. 13 wants his breakfast. Tea and bread and 
butter, with ham and eggs ; the eggs not to bo 
too much done." 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN, 89 

In such a situation as mine, every incident is 
f/f importance. Here was a subject of specula- 
tion presented to mj mind, and ample exercise 
for my imagination. I am prone to paint pic- 
tures to myself, and on this occasion I had some 
materials to work upon. Had the guest up-staira 
been mentioned as Mr. Smith, or Mr. Brown, or 
Mr. Jackson, or Mr. Johnson, or merely as " the 
gentleman in No. 13," it would have been a per- 
fect blank to me. I should have thought nothing 
of it ; but " The stout gentleman ! " — the very 
name had something in it of the picturesque. It 
at once gave the size ; it embodied the personage 
to my mind's eye, and my fancy did the rest. 

He was stout, or, as some term it, lusty ; in 
all probability, therefore, he was advanced in life, 
some people expanding as they grow old. By 
his breakfasting rather late, and in his own room, 
he must be a man accustomed to live at his ease, 
and above the necessity of early rising ; no doubt 
a round, rosy, lusty old gentleman. 

There was another violent rinorino:. The stout 
gentleman was impatient for his breakfast. He 
was evidently a man of importance ; " well to do 
in the world ; " accustomed to be promptly waited 
upon ; of a keen appetite, and a little cross when 
hungry ; " perhaps," thought I, " he may be some 
London Alderman ; or who knows but he may 
be a Member of Parliament ? " 

The breakfast was sent up, and there was a 
ehort interval of silence ; he was, doubtless, mak- 
ing the tea. Presently there was a violent ringing ; 
jind before it could be answered, another ringing 



90 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

Btill more violent. " Bless me ! what a choleric old 
gentleman ! " The waiter came down in a hnlT. 
The butter was rancid, tiie eggs were overdone, 
the ham was too salt ; — the stout gentleman was 
evidently nice in his eating ; one of those who 
eat and growl, and keep 'the waiter on the trot, 
and live in a state militant with the house- 
hold. 

The hostess got into a fume. I should ob- 
serve that she was a brisk, coquettish woman ; a 
little of a shrew, and something of a slammerkin, 
but very pretty withal ; with a nincompoop for a 
husband, as shrews are apt to have. She rated 
the servants roundly for their negligence in send- 
ing up so bad a breakfast, but said not a word 
against the stout gentleman ; by which I clearly 
perceived that he must be a man of consequence, 
entitled to make a noise and to give trouble at a 
country inn. Other eggs, and ham, and bread 
and butter were sent up. They appeared to be 
more graciously received ; at least there was no 
further complaint. 

I had not made many turns about the travel- 
lers' - room, when there was another rinorinor. 
Shortly afterwards there was a stir and an in- 
quest about the house. The stout gentleman 
wanted the Times or the Chronicle newspaper. 
I set him down, therefore, for a Whig ; or rather, 
from his being so absolute and lordly where he 
had a chance, I suspected him of being a Radical. 
Hunt, I had heard, was a large man ; " who 
knows," thought I, "but it is Hunt himself!" 

^ly curiosity began t'^ be awakened. I ia 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN, 91 

quired of the waiter who was this stout gentle- 
iiian that was making all this stir ; but I could 
get no information: nobody seemed to know his 
name. The landlords of bustling inns seldom 
trouble their heads about the names or occupa- 
tions of their transient guests. The color of a 
coat, the shape or size of the person, is enough 
to suggest a travelling name. It is either the 
tall gentleman, or the short gentleman, or the 
gentleman in black, or the gentleman in snuff- 
color ; or, as in the present instance, the stout 
gentleman. A designation of the kind once hit 
on, answers every purpose, and saves all further 
inquiry. 

Rain — rain — rain ! pitiless, ceaseless rain ! 
No such thing as putting a foot out of doors, 
and no occupation nor amusement within. By 
and by I heard some one walking overhead. It 
was in the stout gentleman's room. He evidently 
was a large man by the heaviness of his tread ; 
and an old man from his wearing such creaking 
soles. " He is doubtless," thought I, " some rich 
old square-toes of regular habits, and is now tak- 
ing exercise after breakfast." 

I now read all the advertisements of coaches 
and hotels that were stuck about the mantelpiece. 
The Lady's Magazine had become an abomina- 
tion to me ; it was as tedious as the day itself 
I wandered out, not knowing what to do, and 
ascended again to my room. I had not been 
!:here long, when there was a squall from a neigh- 
boring bedroom. A door opened and slammed 
Tiolently ; a chamber-maid, that I had remarked 



92 BRACEBRWGE BALL. 

for having a ruddy, good-humored face, went 
down stairs in a violent flurry. The stout gentle- 
man had been rude to her ! 

This sent a whole host of my deductions to the 
deuce in a moment. This unknown personage 
could not be an old gentleman ; for old gentlemen 
are not apt to be so obstreperous to chamber-maids. 
He could not be a young gentleman ; for young 
gentlemen are not apt to inspire such indignation 
He must be a middle-aged man, and confounded 
ugly into the bargain, or the girl would not have 
taken the matter in such terrible dudgeon. I con- 
fess I was sorely puzzled. 

In a few minutes I heard the voice of my 
landlady. I caught a glance of her as she came 
tramping up-stairs, — her face glowing, her cap 
flaring, her tongue wagging the whole w^ay. 
" She 'd have no such doings in her house, she 'd 
warrant. If gentlemen did spend money freely, 
it was no rule. She 'd have no servant-maids of 
hers treated in that way, when they were about 
their work, that *s what she would n't." 

As I hate squabbles, particularly with women, 
and above all with pretty women, I slunk back 
into my room, and partly closed the door; but 
my curiosity was too much excited not to lis- 
ten. The landlady marched intrepidly to the 
enemy's citadel, and entered it with a storm : the 
door closed after her. I heard her voice in high 
windy clamor for a moment or two. Then it 
gradually subsided, like a gust of wand in a gar- 
ret ; then there was a laugh ; then I heard noth- 
ing more. 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 93 

After a little while my landlady came out with 
AH odd smile on her face, adjusting her cap, which 
was a litcle on one side. As she went down 
Ftairs, 1 heard the landlord ask her what was the 
matter ; she said, " Nothing at all, only the girl 's 
a fool." — I was more than ever perplexed what 
to make of this unaccountable personage, who 
could put a good-natured chamber-maid in a pas- 
sion, and send away a termagant landlady in 
smiles. He could not be so old, nor cross, nor 
ugly either. 

I had to go to work at his picture again, and 
to paint him entirely different. I now set him 
down for one of those stout gentlemen that are 
frequently met with swaggering about the door? 
of country inns. Moist, merry fellows, in Belcher 
handkerchiefs, whose bulk is a little assisted by 
malt-liquors. Men who have seen the world, and 
been sworn at Highgate ; who are used to tavern- 
life ; up to all the tricks of tapsters, and knowing 
in the ways of sinful publicans. Free-livers on 
a small scale ; who are prodigal within the com- 
pass of a guinea ; who call all the waiters by 
name, tousle the maids, gossip with the landlady 
at the bcir, and prose over a pint of port, or a 
glass of negus, after dinner. 

The morning wore away in forming these and 
similar surmises. As fast as I wove one system 
3f belief, some movement of the unknown would 
completely overturn it, and throw all my thoughts 
again into confusion. Such are the solitary oper- 
ations of a feverish mind. I was, as I have said, 
extremely nervous ; and the continual meditation 



94 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

on the concerns of this invisible personage began 
to have its effect : — I was getting a fit of the 
fidgets. 

Dinner-time caine. I hoped the stout gentle- 
man might dine in the travellers'-room, and that 
I might at length get a view of his person ; but 
no — he had dinner served in his own room. 
What could be the meaning of this solitude and 
mystery ? He could not be a radical ; there was 
something too aristocratical in thus keeping him- 
self apart from the rest of the world, and con- 
demning himself to his own dull company through- 
out a rainy day. And then, too, he lived too well 
for a discontented politician. He seemed to ex- 
patiate on a variety of dishes, and to sit over his 
wine like a jolly friend of good living. Indeed, 
my doubts on this head were soon at an end ; for 
he could not have finished his first bottle before I 
could faintly hear him humming a tune ; and on 
listening I found it to be " God save the King." 
'T was plain, then, he was no radical, but a 
faithful subject ; one who grew loyal over his bot- 
tle, and was ready to stand by king and constitu- 
tion, when he could stand by nothing else. But 
who could he be ? My conjectures began to run 
wild. Was he not some personage of distinction 
travelling incog. ? " God knows ! " said I, at my 
wit's end ; " it may be one of the royal family 
for aught I know, for they are all stout gentle- 
men ! " 

The weather continued rainy. The mysterious 
unknown kept his room, and, as far as I could 
judge, his chair for I did not hear him move 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 95 

In the mean time, as the day advanced, the trav* 
ellers'-room began to be frequented. Some, whe 
had just arrived, came in buttoned up in box- 
coats ; others came home who had been dispersed 
about the town ; some took their dinners, and some 
their tea. Had I been in a different mood, I 
should have found entertainment in studying this 
pecuHar class of men. There were two espe- 
cially, who were regular wags of the road, and up 
to all the standing jokes of travellers. They had 
a thousand sly things to say to the waiting-maid, 
whom they called Louisa, and Etlielinda, and a 
dozen other fine names, changing the name every 
time, and chuckling amazingly at their own wag- 
gery. My mind, however, had been completely 
engrossed by the stout gentleman. He had kept 
my fancy in chase during a long day, and it was 
not now to be diverted from the scent. 

The evening gradually wore away. The trav- 
ellers read the papers two or three times over. 
Some drew round the fire and told long stories 
about their horses, about their adventures, their 
overturns, and breakings-down. They discussed 
the credit of different merchants and different 
inns ; and the two wags told several choice anec- 
dotes of pretty chamber-maids and kind land- 
ladies. All this passed as they were quietly 
taking what they called their night-caps, that 
IS to say, strong glasses of brandy and water 
and sugar, or some other mixture of the kind ; 
after which they one after another rang for 
" Boots " and the chamber-maid, and walked off 
to bed in old shoes cut down into marvellously 
uncomfortable slippers. 



96 BRACEBRIDGE J ALL. 

There was now only one man left: a short- 
legged, long-bodied, plethoric fellow, with a very 
large* sandy head. He sat by himself, with a glass 
of port- wine negus, and a spoon ; sipping and stir- 
ring, and meditating and sipping, until nothing 
was left but the spoon. He gradually fell asleep 
bolt upright in his chair, with the empty glass 
standing before him ; and the candle seemed to 
fall asleep too, for the wick grew long, and black, 
and cabbaged at the end, and dimmed the little 
light that remained in the chamber. The gloom 
that now prevailed was contagious. Around hung 
the shapeless, and almost spectral, box-coats of 
departed travellers, long since buried in deep 
sleep. I only heard the ticking of the clock, 
with the deep-drawn breathings of the sleeping 
topers, and the drippings of the rain, drop — drop 
— drop, from the eaves of the house. The 
church-bells chimed midniorht. All at once the 
stout gentleman began to walk overhead, pacing 
slowly backwards and forwards. There was 
something extremely awful in all this, especially 
to one in my state of nerves. These ghastly 
great-coats, these guttural breathings, and the 
creaking footsteps of this mysterious being. His 
steps grew fainter and fainter, and at length died 
away. I could bear it no longer. I was wound 
up to the desperation of a hero of romance. " Be 
he who or what he may,'' said I to myself, " I '11 
have a sight of him ! " I seized a chamber-can- 
dle, and hurried up to No. 13. The door stood 
ajar. I hesitated — I entered : the room was 
deserted. There stood a large, broad-bottomed 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 97 

elbow-ohair at a table, on which was an empty 
tumbler, and a " Times," newspaper, and the room 
smelt powerfully of Stilton cheese. 

The mysterious stranger had evidently but just 
/etired. I turned off, sorely disappointed, to my 
room, which had been changed to the front of the 
house. As I went along the corridor, I saw a 
iaro;e pair of boots, with dirty, waxed tops, stand- 
ing at the door of a bedchamber. They doubt- 
less belonged to the unknown ; but it would not 
do to disturb so redoubtable a personage in his 
den : he might discharge a pistol, or something 
worse, at my head. I went to bed, therefore, and 
lay awake half the night in a terribly nervous 
state ; and even when I fell asleep, I was still 
haunted in my dreams by the idea of the stout 
gentleman and his wax-topped boots. 

I olept rather late the next morning, and was 
awakened by some stir and bustle in the house, 
which I could not at first comprehend ; until get- 
ting more awake, I found there was a mail- 
coach starting from the door. Suddenly there 
was a cry from below, " The gentleman has for- 
got his umbrella ! Look for the gentleman's um- 
brella in No. 13 ! " I heard an immediate scam- 
pering of a chamber-maid along the passage, and 
a shrill reply as she ran, " Here it is ! here 's the 
gentleman's umbrella ! " 

The mysterious stranger then was on the point 
of setting off. This was the only chance I should 
ever have of knowing him. I sprang out of bed. 
scrambled to the window, snatched aside the cur- 
tains, and just caught a glimpse of the rear of a 



98 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

person getting in at the coacli-door. The skirts 
of a brown coat parted behind, and gave me a full 
view of the broad disk of a pair of drab breeches. 
The door closed — " all right ! " was the word — 
the coach whirled off; — and that was all I ever 
saw of the stout gentleman 1 




FOREST TREES. 



" A living gallery of aged trees.*' 




NE of the favorite themes of boasting 
with the Squire is the noble trees on his 
estate, which, in truth, has some of the 
finest I have seen in England. There is some- 
thing august and solemn in the great avenues of 
stately oaks that gather their branches together 
high in air, and seem to reduce the pedestrians 
beneath them to mere pigmies. " An avenue of 
oaks or elms," the Squire observes, " is the true 
colonnade that should lead to a gentleman's house. 
As to stone and marble, any one can rear them at 
once, they are the work of the day ; but com- 
mend me to the colonnades which have grown 
old and great with the family, and tell by their 
grandeur how long the family has endured." 

The Squire has great reverence for certaii, 
venerable trees, gray with moss, which he con- 
siders as the ancient nobility of his domain. 
There is the ruin of an enormous oak, which has 
been so much battered by time and tempest, that 
Bcarce anything is left ; though he says Christy 
recollects when, in his boyhood, it was healthy 
and flourishing, until it was struck by lightning. 



100 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

It is now a mere trunk, with one twisted bough 
stretching up into the air, leaving a green branch 
at the end of it. This sturdy wreck is much 
vahied by the Squire ; he calls it his standard- 
bearer, and compares it to a veteran warrior 
beaten down in battle, but bearing up his banner 
to the last. He has actually had a fence built 
round it, to protect it as much as possible from 
further injury. 

It is with great difficulty he can ever be 
brought to have any tree cut down on his estate. 
To some he looks with reverence, as having been 
planted by his ancestors ; to others with a kind 
of paternal affection, as having been planted by 
himself; and he feels a degree of awe in bring- 
ing down, with a few strokes of the axe, what it has 
cost centuries to build up. I confess I cannot but 
sympathize, in some degree, with the good Squire 
on the subject. Though brought up in a country 
overrun with forests, where trees are apt to be 
considered mere incumbrances, and to be laid low 
without hesitation or remorse, yet I could never 
see a fine tree hewn down without concern. 
The poets, who are naturally lovers of trees, as 
they are of everything that is beautiful, have 
artfully awakened great interest in their favor, by 
representing them as the habitations of sylvan 
deities ; insomuch that every great tree had its 
tutelar genius, or a nymph, whose existence was 
limited to its duration. Evelyn, in his " Sylva," 
makes several pleasing and fanciiul allusions to 
this superstition. " As the fall," says he, " of a 
very aged oak, giving a crack like thunder, ha^ 



FOREST TREES 101 

often been heard at many miles' distance ; con- 
strained though I often am to fell them with re- 
luctance, I do not at any time remember to have 
heard the groans of those nymphs (grieving to 
be dispossessed of their ancient habitations) with- 
out some emotion and pity." And again, in al- 
luding to a violent storm that had devastated the 
woodlands, he says, " Methinks I still hear, sure 
I am that I still feel, the dismal groans of our 
forests : the late dreadful hurricane having sub- 
verted so many thousands of goodly oaks, pros- 
trating the trees, laying them in ghastly postures, 
like whole regiments fallen in battle by the sword 
of the conqueror, and crushing all that grew be- 
neath them. The public accounts," he adds, 
" reckon no less than three thousand hrave oaks 
in one part only of the forest of Dean blown 
down." 

I have paused more than once in the wilder- 
ness of America, to contemplate the traces of 
some blast of wind, which seemed to have rushed 
down from the clouds, and ripped its way through 
the bosom of the woodlands ; rooting up, shivering, 
and splintering the stoutest trees, and leaving a 
long track of desolation. There was something 
awful in the vast havoc made among these gigan- 
tic plants ; and in considering their magnificent 
remains, so rudely torn and mangled, and hurled 
down to perish prematurely on their native soil, 1 
was conscious of a strong movement of the sym- 
pathy so feelingly expressed by Evelyn. I recol- 
lect, also, hearing a traveller of poetical temper- 
ftraent expressing the kind of horror which he 



102 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

felt on beliolding, on the banks of the Missouri, 
an oak of prodigious size, which had been, in a 
manner, overpowered by an enormous wild grape- 
vine. The vine had clasped its huge folds round 
the trunk, and thence had wound about every 
branch and twig, until the mighty tree had with- 
ered in its embrace. It seemed like Laocoon 
struggling ineffectually in the hideous coils of the 
monster Python. It was the lion of trees per- 
ishing in the embraces of a vegetable boa. 

I am fond of listeninof to the conversation of 
English gentlemen on rural concerns, and of no- 
ticing with what taste and discrimination, and 
wKat strong, unaffected interest they will discuss 
topics which, in other countries, are abandoned to 
mere woodmen, or rustic cultivators. I have 
heard a noble earl descant on park and forest 
scenery with the science and feeling of a painter. 
He dwelt on the shape and beauty of particular 
trees on his estate, with as much pride and techni- 
cal precision as though he had been discussing 
the merits of statues in his collection. I found that 
he had even gone considerable distances to exam- 
me trees which were celebrated among rural 
amateurs ; for it seems that trees, like horses, have 
their established points of excellence ; and that 
there are some in England which enjoy very ex- 
tensive celebrity among tree-fanciers from being 
perfect in their kind. 

There is something nobly simple and pure in 
such a taste : it argues, I think, a sweet and gen- 
erous nature, to have this strong relish for the 
beauties of vegetation, and this friendship for the 



FOREST TREES, 103 

hardy and glorious sons of the forest. There is 
a grandeur of thought connected with this part 
of rural economy. It is, if I may be allowed 
the figure, the heroic line of husbandry. It is 
worthy of liberal, and freeborn, and aspiring men. 
He who plants an oak, looks forward to future 
ages, and plants for posterity. Nothing can be 
less selfish than this. He cannot expect to sit 
in its shade, nor enjoy its shelter ; but he exults 
in the idea that the acorn which he has buried 
in the earth will grow up into a lofty pile, and 
keep on flourishing, and increasing, and benefit- 
ing mankind, long after he shall have ceased to 
tread his paternal fields. Indeed, it is the nature 
of such occupations to lift the thoughts above 
mere worldliness. As the leaves of trees are 
said to absorb all noxious qualities of the air, and 
to breathe forth a purer atmosphere, so it seems 
to me as if they drew from us all sordid and angry 
passions, and breathed forth peace and philan- 
thropy. There is a serene and settled majesty in 
woodland scenery that enters into the soul, and 
dilates and elevates it, and fills it with noble in- 
clinations. The ancient and hereditary groves, 
too, which embower this island, are most of them 
full of story. They are haunted by the recollec- 
tions of great spirits of past ages, who have 
sought for relaxation among them from the tu- 
mult of arms, or the toils of state, or have wooed 
the muse beneath their shade. Who can walk, 
with soul unmoved, among the stately groves of 
Penshurst, where the gallant, the amiable, the ele- 
gant Sir Philip Sidney passed his boyhood ; or 



104 BRACKBRIDGE HALL. 

can look without fondness upon the tree that ts 
said to have been planted on his birthday ; or can 
ramble among the classic bowers of Hagley ; or 
can pause among the solitudes of Windsor Forest 
and look at the oaks around, huge, gray, and time- 
worn, like the old castle-towers, and not feel as 
if he were surrounded by so many monuments 
of long-enduring glory ? It is, when viewed in 
this light, that planted groves, and stately ave- 
nues, and cultivated parks, have an advantage over 
the more luxuriant beauties of unassisted nature. 
It is then they teem with moral associations, and 
keep up the ever - interesting story of human 
existence. 

It is incumbent, then, on the high and gener- 
ous spirits of an ancient nation, to cherish these 
sacred groves which surround their ancestral 
mansions, and to perpetuate them to their descend- 
ants. Republican as I am by birth, and brought 
up as I have been in republican principles and 
habits, I can feel nothing of the servile reverence 
for titled rank, merely because it is titled ; but I 
trust that I am neitlier churl nor bigot in my 
creed. I can both see and feel how hereditary 
distinction, when it falls to the lot of a generous 
mind, may elevate that mind into true nobility. 
It is one of the effects of hereditary rank, when 
it falls thus happily, that it multiplies the duties, 
and, as it were, extends the existence of the pos- 
sessor. He does not feel himself a mere indi- 
vidual link in creation, responsible only for his 
')wn brief term of being. He carries back his 
existence in nroud recollection, and he extends it 



FOREST TREES, 105 

tbrward in honorable anticipation. He lives with 
his ancestry, and he lives with his posterity. To 
both does he consider himself involved in deep 
responsibilities. As he has received much from 
those who have gone before, so he feels bound to 
transmit much to those who are to come aftei 
him. His domestic undertakings seem to imply 
a longer existence than those of ordinary men ; 
none are so apt to build and plant for future cen- 
turies as those noble-spirited men who have re- 
ceived their heritages from foregone ages. 

I cannot but applaud, therefore, the fondness 
and pride with which I have noticed English gen- 
tlemen, of generous temperaments and high aris- 
tocratic feelings, contemplating those magnificent 
trees, rising like towers and pyramids from the 
midst of their paternal lands. There is an affin- 
ity between all nature, animate and inanimate : the 
oak, in the pride and lustihood of its growth, seems 
to me to take its range with the lion and the eagle, 
and to assimilate, in the grandeur of its attributes, 
to heroic and intellectual man. With its mighty 
pillar rising straight and direct towards heaven, 
bearing up its leafy honors from the impurities 
of earth, and supporting them aloft in free air 
and glorious sunshine, it is an emblem of what a 
true nobleman should he : a refuge for the weak, 
a shelter for the oppressed, a defence for the de- 
fenceless ; warding off from them the peltings of 
♦he storm, or the scorching rays of arbitrary 
power. He who is this, is an ornament and a 
blessing to his native land. He who is otherwise. 
abuses his eminent advantages ; abuses the gran 



106 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 



deur and prosperity which he has drawn from the 
hosom of his country. Should tempests arise, 
and he be laid prostrate by the storm, who would 
mourn over his fall ? Should he be borne down 
by the oppressive hand of power, who would mur- 
mur at his fate ? — " Why cumbereth he the 
qi'ound ? " 



A LITERARY ANTIQUARY. 

Printed bookes he contemnes, as a novelty of this latter age j but a 
manuscript he pores on everlastingly ; especially if the cover be all 
moth-eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis betweeae every syllable. 

MiCO-COSMOGRAPHIE, 1628. 




HE Squire receives great sympathy and 
support, in his antiquated humors, from 
the parson, of whom I made some men- 
tion on my former visit to the Hall, and who acts 
as a kind of family chaplain. He has been cher- 
ished by the Squire almost constantly since the 
time that they were fellow-students at Oxford ; 
for it is one of the peculiar advantages of these 
great universities, that they often link the poor 
scholar to the rich patron by early and heartfelt 
ties, which last through life, without the usual 
humiliations of dependence and patronage. Un- 
der the fostering protection of the Squire, there- 
fore, the little parson has pursued his studies in 
peace. Having lived almost entirely among 
books, and those, too, old books, he is quite igno* 
rant of the world, and his mind is as antiquated as 
the garden at the Hall, where the flowers are all 
arranged in formal beds, and the yew-trees clipped 
mfeo urns and peacocks. 

His taste for literary antiquities was first im- 



103 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

bibed ill the Bodleian Library at Oxford ; where, 
when a student, he passed many an hour forag- 
big among the old manuscripts. He lias since, at 
different times, visited most of the curious libra- 
ries in England, and has ransacked many of the 
cathedrals. With all his quaint and curious 
learning, he has nothing of arrogance or pedan- 
try, but that unaffected earnestness and guileless 
simplicity which seem to belong to the literary 
antiquary. 

He is a dark, mouldy little man, and rather 
dry in his manner ; yet, on his favorite theme, he 
kindles up, and at times is even eloquent. No fox- 
hunter, recounting his last day's sport, could be 
more animated than I have seen the worthy par- 
son, when relating his search after a curious docu- 
ment, which he had traced from library to library, 
until he fairly unearthed it in the dusty chapter- 
house of a cathedral. When, too, he describes 
some venerable manuscript, with its rich illumina- 
tions, its thick creamy vellum, its glossy ink, and 
the odor of the cloisters that seemed to exhale 
from it, he rivals the enthusiasm of a Parisian 
epicure expatiating on the merits of a Perigord 
pie, or a Pate de Strasbourg. 

His brain seems absolutely haunted with love- 
sick dreams about gorgeous old works in " silk 
linings, tripled gold bands, and tinted leather, 
locked up in wire cases, and secured from the 
vulgar hands of the mere reader," and, to con- 
tinue the happy expressions of an ingenious 
writer, *' dazzling one's eyes like eastern beau- 
ties peering through their jealousies." * 
* D'Israeli. Curiosities of Literature. 



A LITERARY ANTIQUARY. 109 

He has a great desire, however, to read such 
works in the old libraries and chapter-houses to 
which they belong ; for he thinks a black-letter 
volume reads best in one of those venerable 
chambers where the light struggles through dusty 
lancet windows and painted glass ; and that it 
loses half its zest if taken away from the neigh- 
borhood of the quaintly carved oaken bookcase 
and Gothic readinor-desk. At his suffo^estion the 
Squire has had the library furnished in this an- 
tique taste, and several of the windows glazed 
with painted glass, that they may throw a prop- 
erly tempered light upon the pages of their favor- 
ite old authors. 

The parson, I am told, has been for some time 
meditating a commentary on Strutt, Brand, and 
Douce, in which he means to detect them in sun- 
dry dangerous errors in respect to popular games 
and superstitions ; a work to which the Squire 
looks forward with great interest. He is, also, 
a casual contributor to that long-established re- 
pository of national customs and antiquities, the 
" Gentleman's Magazine," and is one of those who 
every now and then make an inquiry concerning 
some obsolete custom or rare legend ; nay, it is 
said that some of his communications have been 
at least six inches in length. He frequently 
receives parcels by coach from different parts of 
the kingdom, containing mouldy volumes and 
almost illegible manuscripts ; for it is singular 
what an active correspondence is kept up among 
literary antiquaries, and how soon the fame of 
any rare volume, or unique copy, just discovered 



110 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

among the rubbish of a library, is circulated 
among them. The parson is more busy than 
common just now, being a little flurried by an 
advertisement of a work, said to be preparing for 
the press, on the mythology of the middle ages. 
The little man has long been gathering together 
all the hobgoblin tales he could collect, illustra- 
tive of the superstitions of former times ; and he 
is in a complete fever, lest this formidable rival 
should take the field before him. 

Shortly after my arrival at the Hall, I called 
at the parsonage, in company with Mr. Brace- 
bridge and the general. The parson had not 
been seen for several days, w^hich was a matter 
of some surprise, as he was an almost daily 
visitor at the Hall. We found him in his study : 
a small dusky chamber, lighted by a lattice-win- 
dow that looked into the church-yard, and was 
overshadowed by a yew-tree. His chair v^^as 
surrounded by folios and quartos, piled upon the 
floor, and his table was covered with books and 
manuscripts. The cause of his seclusion was a 
work which he had recently received, and with 
which he had retired in rapture from the world, 
and shut himself up to enjoy a literary honey- 
moon undisturbed. Never did boarding-school 
girl devour the pages of a sentimental novel, or 
Don Quixote a chivalrous romance, with more 
intense delight than did the little man banquet on 
the pages of this delicious work. It was Dibdin's 
" Bibliographical Tour," a work calculated to 
have as intoxicating an effect on the imaginations 
of literary antiquaries as the adventures of tlif 



A LITERARY ANTIQUARY 111 

heroes of the round - table on all true knights, 
or the tales of the early American voyagers on 
the ardent spirits of the age, filling them with 
dreams of Mexican and Peruvian mines, and of 
the golden realm of El Dorado. 

The good parson had looked forward to this 
bibliographical expedition as of far greater im- 
portance than those to Africa, or the North Pole. 
With what eagerness had he seized upon the his- 
tory of the enterprise ! with what interest had he 
followed the redoubtable bibliographer and his 
graphical squire in their adventurous roamings 
among Norman castles, and cathedrals, and French 
libraries, and German convents and universities ; 
penetrating into the prison-houses of vellum man- 
uscripts, and exquisitely illuminated missals, and 
revealing their beauties to the world ! 

When the parson had finished a rapturous 
eulogy on this most curious and entertaining work, 
he drew forth from a little drawer a manuscript, 
lately received from a correspondent, which had 
perplexed him sadly. It was written in Norman 
French, in very ancient characters, and so faded 
and mouldered away as to be almost illegible. 
It was apparently an old Norman drinking-song, 
which might have been brought over by one of 
William the Conqueror's carousing followers. 
The writing was just legible enough to keep a 
keen antiquity-hunter on a doubtful chase ; here 
and there he would be completely thrown out, 
and then there would be a few words so plainly 
written as to put him on the scent again. In 
this way he had been led on for a whole day 
until he had found himself completely at fault. 



112 BRACEBRWGE HALL. 

The Squire endeavored to assist him, but was 
equally baffled. The old general listened for 
some time to the discussion, and then asked the 
parson, if he had read Captain Morris's, or 
George Stevens's, or Anacreon Moore's bacchana- 
lian songs ; on the other replying in the negative, 
" Oh, then," said the general, with a sagacious 
nod, " if you want a drinking-song, I can furnish 
you with the latest collection, — I did not know 
you had a turn for those kind of things; and I 
can lend you the Encyclopedia of Wit into the 
bargain. I never travel without them ; they 're 
excellent readinof at an inn." 

It would not be easy to describe the odd look 
of surprise and perplexity of the parson, at this 
proposal ; or the difficidty the Squire had in mak- 
ing the general comprehend, that, though a jovial 
song of the present day was but a foolish sound 
in the ears of wisdom, and beneath tlie notice of 
a learned man, yet a trowl, written by a tosspot 
several hundred year^ since, was a matter worthy 
of the gravest research, and enough to set whole 
colleges by the ears. 

I have since pondered much on this matter^ 
and have figured to myself what may be the fate 
of our current literature, when retrieved, piece- 
meal, by future antiquaries, from among the rub- 
bish of ages. What a Magnus Apollo, for in- 
stance, will Moore become, among sober divines 
and dusty schoolmen ! Even his festive and 
amatory songs, which are now the mere quickeners 
of our social moments, or the delights of our 
drawing-rooms, will then become matters of la- 



A LITERARY ANTIQUARY. 113 

borious research and painful collation. How 
many a grave professor will then waste his mid- 
night oil, or worry his brain through a long morn- 
ing, endeavoring to restore the pure text, or illus- 
trate the biographical hints of " Come, tell me, 
says Rosa, as kissing and kissed ; " and how many 
an arid old bookworm, like the v>rorthy little par- 
s<')n, will give up in despair, after vainly striving 
to fill up some fatal hiatus in " Fanny of Tim- 
mol ! " 

Nor is it merely such exquisite authors as 
Moore that are doomed to consume the oil of 
future antiquaries. Many a poor scribbler, who 
is now, apparently, sent to oblivion by pastry- 
cooks and cheesemongers, will then rise again in 
fragments, and flourish in learned immortality. 

After all, thought I, Time is not such an invari- 
able destroyer as he is represented. If he pulls 
down, he likewise builds up ; if he impoverishes 
one, he enriches another ; his very dilapidation 
furnishes matter for new works of controversy, 
and his rust is more precious than the most costly 
gilding. Under his plastic hand trifles rise into 
importance ; the nonsense of one age becomes 
the wisdom of another ; the levity of the wit 
gravitates into the learning of the pedant, and an 
ancient farthing moulders into infinitely more 
\;alue than a modern guinea. 
8 



THE FARM-HOUSE. 



• Love and hay 




Are tliick sown, but come up full of thistles. 

Beaumont and Fletchbe. 

WAS so much pleased with the anecdotes 
which were told me of Ready-Money 
Jack Tibbets, that I got Master Simon, 
a day or two since, to take me to his house. It 
was an old-fashioned farm-house, built of brick, 
with curiously twisted chimneys. It stood at a lit- 
tle distance from the road, with a southern expos- 
ure, looking upon a soft, green slope of meadow. 
There was a small garden in front, with a row 
of beehives humming among beds of sweet herbs 
and flowers. Well - scoured milking - tubs, with 
bright copper hoops, hung on the garden paling. 
Fruit-trees were trained up against the cottage, 
and pots of flowers stood in the windows. A fat, 
superannuated mastiff* lay in the sunshine at the 
door, with a sleek cat sleeping peacefully across 
him. 

Mr. Tibbets was from home at the time of our 
calling, but we were received with hearty and 
homely welcome by his wife : a notable, motherly 
woman, and a complete pattern for wives ; since, 
iiccording to Master Simon's account, she never 



THE FARM-HOUSE. 115 

contradicts honest Jack, and yet manages to have 
her own way, and to control him in everything. 

She received us in the main room of the house, 
a kind of parlor and hall, with great brown beam» 
of timber across it, which Mr. Tibbets is apt to 
point out with some exultation, observing, thai 
I hey don't put such timber in houses nowadays. 
The furniture was old-fashioned, strong, and high- 
ly polished; the walls were hung with colored 
prints of the story of the Prodigal Son, who was 
represented in a red coat and leather breeches. 
Over the fireplace was a blunderbuss, and a hard- 
favored likeness of Ready-Money Jack, taken, 
when he was a young man, by the same artist 
that painted the tavern-sign ; his mother having 
taken a notion that the Tibbets had as much 
right to have a gallery of family portraits as the 
folks at the Hall. 

The good dame pressed us very much to 
take some refreshment, and tempted us with a 
variety of household dainties, so that we were 
glad to compound by tasting some of her home- 
made wines. While we were there, the son and 
heir-apparent came home : a good-looking young 
fellow, and something of a rustic beau. He took 
us over the premises, and showed us the whole 
establishment. An air of homely but substantial 
plenty prevailed throughout ; everything was of 
'he best materials, and in the best condition. 
Nothing was out of place, or ill made ; and you 
saw everywhere the signs of a man who took 
?are to have the worth of his money, and paid as 
he went. 



116 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

The farm-yard was well stocked ; under a shed 
was a taxed cart, in trim order, in which Ready- 
Money Jack took his wife about the country. 
His well-fed horse neighed from the stable, and 
when led out into the yard, to use the words of 
young Jack, " he shone like a bottle ; " for he 
said the old man made it a rule that everything 
about him should fare as well as he did himself. 

I was pleased to see the pride which the young 
fellow seemed to have of his father. He gave us 
several particulars concerning his habits, which 
were pretty much to the effect of those I have 
already mentioned. He had never suffered an 
account to stand in his life, always providing the 
money before he purchased anything ; and, if pos- 
sible, paying in gold and silver. He had a great 
dislike to paper money, and seldom went without 
a considerable sum in gold about him. On my 
observing that it was a wonder he had never been 
Waylaid and robbed, the young fellow smiled at 
the idea of any one venturing upon such an ex- 
ploit, for I believe he thinks the old man would 
be a match for Robin Hood and all his gang. 

I have noticed that Master Simon seldom goes 
into any house without having a world of private 
talk with some one or other of the family, being 
a kind of universal counsellor and confidant. 
We had not been long at the farm, before the old 
dame got him into a corner of her parlor, where 
ihey had a long whispering conference together ; 
in which I saw by his shrugs that there were 
eome dubious matters discussed, and by his nods 
that he agreed with everything she said. 



THE FARM-HOUSE. 117 

Af\er we had come out, the young man accora 
panied us a little distance, and then, drawing 
Master Simon aside into a green lane, they walked 
and talked together for nearly half an hour. JMas- 
ter Simon, who has the usual propensity of con- 
fidants to blab everything to the next friend they 
meet with, let me know that there was a love- 
affair in the question ; the young fellow having 
been smitten with the charms of Phoebe Wilkins, 
the pretty niece of the housekeeper at the Hall. 
Like most other love-concerns, it had brought its 
troubles and perplexities. Dame Tibbets had 
long been on intimate, gossiping terms with the 
housekeeper, who often visited the farm-house ; 
bat when the neighbors spoke to her of the like- 
lihood of a match between her son and Phoebe 
Wilkins, " Marry come up ! " she scouted the very 
idea. The girl had acted as Lady*s maid, and it 
was beneath the blood of the Tibbets, who had 
lived on their own lands time out of mind, and 
owed reverence and thanks to nobody, to have 
the heir-apparent marry a servant ! 

These vaporings had faithfully been carried to 
the housekeeper's ears by one of their mutual 
go-between friends. Tlie old housekeeper's blood, 
if not as ancient, was as quick as that of Dame 
Tibbets. She had been accustomed to carry a 
high head at the Hall and among the villagers ; 
and her faded brocade rustled with indignation at 
the slight cast upon her alliance by the wife of 
a petty farmer. She mamtained that her niece 
aad been a companion rather than a waiting-maid 
to the young ladies. " Thank heavens, she was 



118 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

not obliged to work for her living, and was a9 
idle as any young lady in the land ; and when 
Boniebody died, would receive something that 
would be worth the notice of some folks, with all 
their ready money." 

A bitter feud had thus taken place betw^een 
the two worthy dames, and the young people 
were forbidden to think of one another. As to 
young Jack, he was too much in love to reason 
upon the matter ; and being a little heady, and 
not standing in much awe of his mother, was 
ready to sacrifice the whole dignity of the Tibbets 
to his passion. He had lately, however, had a 
violent quarrel with his mistress, in consequence 
of some coquetry on her part, and at present stood 
aloof. The politic mother was exerting all her 
ingenuity to widen this accidental breach ; but, 
as is most commonly the case, the more she med- 
dled with this perverse inclination of her son, the 
|tronger it grew. In the mean time Old Ready- 
Money was kept completely in the dark ; both 
parties were in awe and uncertainty as to what 
might be his w^ay of taking the matter, and dread- 
ed to awaken the sleeping lion. Between father 
and son, therefore, the worthy Mrs. Tibbets was 
full of business, and at her wit's end. It is true 
tliere was no great danger of honest Ready-Mon- 
ey's finding the thing out, if left to himself, for he 
was of a most unsuspicious temper, and by no 
means quick of apprehension ; but there was daily 
risk of his attention being aroused by those cob- 
webs which his indefatigable wife was continually 
spinning about his nose. 



THE FARM-HOUSE. 



119 



Such is the distracted state of politics in the 
domestic empire of Ready-Money Jack ; which 
only shows the intrigues and internal dangers to 
which the best regulated governments are liable. 
In this perplexed situation of their affairs, both 
mother and son have applied to Master Simon 
for counsel ; and, with all his experience in med- 
dling A^ith other people's concerns, he finds it an 
exceedingly difficult part to play, to agree with 
both parties, seeing that their opinions and wishes 
are so diametrically opposite. 



HORSEMANSHIP. 




A coach was a jstrange monster in those days, and the sight of one 
put both horse and man into amazement. Some said it was a great 
srabshell brought out of China, and some imagined it to be one of 
the pagan temples, in which the canibals adored the divell. 

Taylor, the water poet- 

HAVE made casual mention, more than 
once, of one of the Squire's antiquated 
retainers, old Christy the huntsman. I 
find that his crahbed humor is a source of much 
entertainment among the young men of the fam- 
ily ; the Oxonian, particularly, takes a mischiev- 
ous pleasure now and then in slyly rubbing the 
old man against the grain, and then smoothing 
him down again ; for the old fellow is as ready 
to bristle up his back as a porcupine. He rides 
a venerable hunter called Pepper, which is a 
counterpart of himself, a heady, cross-grained 
animal, that frets the flesh off its bones ; bites, 
kicks, and plays all manner of villanous tricks. 
He is as tough, and nearly as old as his rider, 
who has ridden him time out of mind, and is, in- 
deed, the only one that can do anything with 
him. Sometimes, however, they have a complete 
quarrel, and a dispute for mastery, and then, I 
am told, it is as good as a farce to see the heat 



nORSEMANSIIIP, 121 

they both get into, and the wrongheaded contest 
that ensues ; for they are quite knowing in each 
other's ways, and in the art of teasing and fret- 
ting each other. Notwithstanding these doughty 
brawls, however, there is nothing that nettles old 
Christy sooner than to question the merits of his 
horse ; which he upholds as tenaciously as a faith- 
ful husband will vindicate the virtues of the ter- 
magant spouse that gives him a curtain-lecture 
every night of his life. 

The young men call old Christy their " pro- 
fessor of equitation," and in accounting for the 
appellation, they let me into some particulars of 
the Squire's mode of bringing up his children. 
There is an odd mixture of eccentricity and good 
sense in all the opinions of my worthy host. His 
mind is like modern Gothic, where plain brick- 
work is set off with pointed arches and quaint 
tracery. Though the main groundwork of his 
opinions is correct, yet he has a thousand little 
notions, picked up from old books, which stand 
out whimsically on the surface of his mind. 

Thus, in educating his boys, he chose Peachem, 
Markam, and such like old English writers, for 
his manuals. At an early age he took the lads 
out of their mother's hands, who was disposed, 
as mothers are apt to be, to make fine, orderly 
children of them, that should keep out of sun and 
rain, and never soil their hands, nor tear their 
clothes. 

In place of this, the Squire turned them loose 
to run free and wild about the park, without 
heeding wind or weather. He was also partieu- 



122 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. 

larljr attentive in making them bold and expert 
horsemen ; and these were the days when old 
Christy, the huntsman, enjoyed great importance 
as the lads were put under his care to practiso 
them at the leaping-bars, and to keep an eye 
upon them in the chase. 

The Squire always objected to their riding in 
carriages of any kind, and is still a little tena- 
cious on this point. He often rails against the 
universal use of carriages, and quotes the words 
of honest Nashe to that effect. " It was thought," 
says Nashe, in his Quaternio, " a kind of solecism, 
and to savor of effeminacy, for a young gentle- 
man in the flourishing time of his age to creep 
into a coach, and to shroud himself from wind and 
weather : our great delight was to outbrave the 
blustering Boreas upon a great horse ; to arm and 
prepare ourselves to go with Mars and Bellona 
into the field was our sport and pastime ; coaches 
and caroches we left unto them for whom they 
were first invented, for ladies and gentlemen, and 
decrepit age and impotent people." 

The Squire insists that the English gentlemen 
have lost much of their hardiness and manhood 
since the introduction of carriages. '^ Compare," 
he will say, " the fine gentleman of former times, 
ever on horseback, booted and spurred, and travel- 
stained, but open, frank, manly, and chivalrous, 
with the fine gentleman of the present day, full 
of affectation and effeminacy, rolling along a turn- 
pike in his voluptuous vehicle. The young men 
of those days were rendered brave, and lofty, and 
generous in their notions, by almost living in their 



nORSEMANSHlP, 123 

saddles, and having their foaming steeds ' like 
proud seas under them.' There is something," 
he adds, " in bestriding a fine horse, that makes a 
man feel more than mortal. He seems to have 
doubled his nature, and to have added to his own 
courage and sagacity the power, the speed, and 
stateliness of the superb animal on which he is 
mounted." 

" It is a great delight," says old Nashe, " to see 
a young gentleman with his skill and cunning, by 
his voice, rod, and spur, better to manage and lo 
command the great Bucephalus, than the strong- 
est Milo, with all his strength ; one while to see 
him make him tread, trot, and gallop the ring ; 
and one after to see him make him gather up 
roundly ; to bear his head steadily ; to run a full 
career swiftly ; to stop a sudden lightly : anon 
after to see him make him advance, to yorke, to 
go back, and side long, to turn on either hand ; 
to gallop the gallop galliard ; to do the capriole, 
the chambetta, and dance the curve tty." 

In conformity to these ideas, the Squire had 
them all on horseback at an early age, and made 
them ride, slapdash, about the country, without 
flinching at hedge, or ditch, or stone wall, to the 
imminent danger of their necks. 

Even the fair Julia was partially included in 
this system ; and, under the instructions of old 
Christy, has become one of the best horsewomen 
in the country. The Squire says it is better than 
all the cosmetics and sweeteners of the breath that 
ever were invented. He extols the horsemanship 
jf the ladies in farmer times, when Queen Eliza- 



124 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

beth would scarcely suffer the rain to stop licr 
accustomed ride. " And then think," he will say, 
^ what nobler and sweeter beings it made them. 
What a difference must there be, both in mind 
and body, between a joyous high-spirited dame of 
those days, glowing with health and exercise, 
freshened by every breeze, seated loftily and 
gracefully on her saddle, with plume on head, and 
hawk on hand, and her descendant of the present 
day, the pale victim of routs and ball-rooms, sunk 
languidly in one corner of an enervating car- 
riage." 

The Squire's equestrian system has been at- 
tended with great success, for his sons, having 
passed through the whole course of instruction 
without breaking neck or limb, are now healthful, 
spirited, and active, and have the true English- 
man's love for a horse. If their manliness and 
frankness are praised in their father's hearing, he 
quotes the old Persian maxim, and says, they 
have been taught " to ride, to shoot, and to speak 
the truth." 

It is true the Oxonian has now and then prac- 
tised the old gentleman's doctrines a little in the 
extreme. He is a gay youngster, rather fonder 
of his horse than his book, with a little dash of 
the dandy ; though the ladies all declare that he 
is " the flower of the flock." The first year that 
he was sent to Oxford he had a tutor appointed 
to overlook him, — a dry chip of the university. 
When he returned home in the vacation, the 
Squire made many inquiries about how he liked 
his college, his studies, and his tutor. 



HORSEMANSHIP, 12o 

" Oh, as to my tutor, sir, I Ve parted with him 
some time since." 

" You have ; and pray, why so ? " 

" Oh, sir, hunting was all the go at our college, 
and I was a little short of funds ; so I discharged 
my tutor, and took a horse, you know." 

" Ah, I was not aware of that, Tom," said the 
Squire, mildly. 

When Tom returned to college, his allowance 
was doubled, that he might be enabled to keep 
b3th horse and tutor. 




LOYE SYIVIPTOMS. 




I will now begin to sigh, read poets, look pale, go neatly, and b€ 
most apparently in love. — Marstow. 

SHOULD not be surprised if we should 
have another pair of turtles at the Hall ; 
for Master Simon has informed me, in 
gi'cat confidence, that he suspects the general of 
some design upon the susceptible heart of Lady 
Lillycraft. I have, indeed, noticed a growing at- 
tention and courtesy in the veteran towards her 
ladyship ; he softens very much in her company, 
sits by her at table, and entertains her with long 
stories about Seringapatam, and pleasant anec- 
dotes of the Mulligatawney club. I have even 
seen him present her with a full-blown rose from 
the hot-house, in a style of the most captivating 
gallantry, and it was accepted with great suavity 
and graciousness ; for her ladyship delights in re- 
ceiving the homage and attention of the sex. 

Indeed, the general was one of the earliest ad- 
mii'ers that dangled in her train during her short 
reign of beauty ; and they flirted together for 
half a season in London, some thirty or forty 
years since. She reminded him lately, in the 
course of a conversation about former days, of 



LOVE SYMPTOMS. 127 

the time when he used to ride a white horye, and 
to canter so gallantly by the side of her carriage 
in Hyde Park ; whereupon I have remarked that 
the veteran has regularly escorted her since, when 
she rides out on horseback ; and, I suspect, he 
almost persuades himself that he makes as capti- 
vating an appearance as in his youthful days. 

It would be an interesting and memorable 
circumstance in the chronicles of Cupid, if this 
spark of the tender passion, after lying dormant 
for such a length of time, should again be fanned 
into a flame, from amidst the ashes of two burnt^ 
out hearts. It would be an instance of perdura- 
ble fidelity, worthy of being placed beside those 
recorded in one of the Squire's favorite tomes, 
commemorating the constancy of the olden times ; 
in which times, we are told, " Men and wymmen 
coulue love togyders seven yeres, and no licours 
lustes were betwene them, and thenne was love, 
trouthe, and feythfulnes ; and lo in lyke wyse 
was used love in Kyng Arthurs dayes." * 

Still, however, this may be nothing but a 
little venerable flirtation, the general being a vet- 
eran dangler, and the good lady habituated to 
these kind of attentions. Master Simon, on the 
other hand, thinks the general is looking about 
him with the wary eye of an old campaigner ; 
and now that he is on the wane, is desirous of 
getting into warm winter-quarters. Much allow- 
ance, however, must be made for Master Simon's 
uneasiness on the subject, for he looks on Lady 
Lillycraft's house as one of his strongholds, whero 
** Morte d'Arthur. 



128 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

he is lord of the ascendant ; and, with all his ad- 
miration of the general, I much doubt whether 
he would like to see him lord of the lady and the 
establishment. 

There are certain other symptoms, notwith- 
Btanding, that give an air of probability to Mas- 
ter Simon's intimations. Thus, for instance, J 
hav^e observed that the general has been very as- 
siduous in his attentions to her ladyship's dogs, 
and has several times exposed his fingers to im- 
minent jeopardy, in attempting to pat Beauty on 
the head. It is to be hoped his advances to the 
mistress will be more favorably received, as all 
his overtures towards a caress are greeted by the 
pestilent little cur with a wary kindling of the eye, 
and a most venomous growl. 

He has, moreover, been very complaisant to- 
wards my lady's gentlewoman, the immaculate MrSt 
Hannah, whom he used to speak of in a way that 
I do not choose to mention. Whether she has the 
same suspicions with Master Simon or not, I can- 
not say ; but she receives his civilities with no 
better grace than the implacable Beauty ; un- 
screwing her mouth into a most acid smile, and 
looking as though she could bite a piece out of 
him. In short, the poor general seems to have as 
formidable foes to contend with as a hero of an- 
cient fairy tale ; who had to fight his way to his 
enchanted princess through ferocious monsters of 
every kind, and to encounter the brimstone ter- 
rors of some fiery dragon. 

There is still another circumstance which in- 
clines me to give very considerable credit to Mas- 



LOVE SYMPTOMS. 129 

ter Simon's suspicions. Lady Lillycraft is very 
fond of quoting poetry, and the conversation 
often turns upon it, on which occasions the gen- 
eral is thrown completely out. It happened the 
other day that Spenser's '' Fairy Queen " was the 
theme for the great part of the morning, and the 
poor gentleman sat perfectly silent. I found him 
uot long after in the library, with spectacles on 
nose, a book in his hand, and fast asleep. On my 
approach he awoke, slipped the spectacles into his 
pocket, and began to read very attentively. Af- 
ter a little while he put a paper in the place, and 
laid the volume aside, which I perceived was the 
" Fairy Queen." I have had the curiosity to watch 
how he got on in his poetical studies ; but, though 
I have repeatedly seen him with the book in his 
hand, yet I find the paper has not advanced above 
three or four pages ; the general being extremely 
apt to fall asleep when he reads. 





FALCONRY. 

Ne is there hawk which mantleth on her perch, 
Whether high tow'ring or accousting low, 

But I the measure of her flight doe search, 
And all her prey and all her diet know. 

Spenseb. 

I HE RE are several grand sources of lam 
entation furnished to the worthy Squire 
by the improvement of society and the 
grievous advancement of knowledge ; among 
which none, I believe, causes him more frequent 
regret than the unfortunate invention of gun- 
powder. To this he continually traces the decay 
of some favorite custom, and, indeed, the general 
downfall of all chivalrous and romantic usages. 
" English soldiers," he says, " have never been 
the men they were in the days of the cross-bow 
and the long-bow ; when they depended upon the 
strength of the arm, and the English archer could 
draw a cloth -yard shaft to the head. These 
were the times when, at the battles of Cressy, 
Poictiers, and Agincourt, the French chivalry was 
completely destroyed by the bowmen of England. 
The yeomanry, too, have never been what they 
were, when, in times of peace, they were con- 
stantly exercised with the bow, and ari^hery w<w 
a favorite holiday pastime." 



FALCONRY, 131 

Among the other evils which have followed in 
the train of this fatal invention of gunpowder 
the Squire classes the total decline of the noble 
art of falconry. " Shooting," he says, " is a skulk- 
ing, treacherous, solitary sport in comparison ; but 
hawking was a gallant, open, sunshiny recreation ; 
it was the generous sport of hunting carried into 
the skies." 

" It was, moreover," he says, " according to 
Braithwaite, the stately amusement of ' high and 
mounting spirits ' ; for, as the old Welsh proverb 
affirms, in those times ' you might know a gentle- 
man by his hawk, horse, and greyhound.' In- 
deed, a cavalier was seldom seen abroad without 
his hawk on his fist ; and even a lady of rank did 
not think herself completely equipped, in riding 
forth, unless she had her tassel-gen tel held by 
jesses on her delicate hand. It was thought in 
those excellent days, according to an old writer, 
' quite sufficient for noblemen to winde their 
horn, and to carry their hawke fair ; and leave 
study and learning to the children of mean peo- 
ple.' " 

Knowing the good Squire's hobby, therefore, I 
have not been surprised in finding that, among 
the various recreations of former times, which he 
Las endeavored to revive in the little world in 
which he rules, he has bestowed great attention on 
the noble art of falconry. In this he, of course, 
has been seconded by his indefatigable coadjutor, 
Master Simon ; and even the parson has thrown 
.considerable light on their labors, by various hints 
)n the subject, which he has met with in old 



132 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

English works. As to the precious work of that 
famous dame, Juliana Barnes ; the '' Gentleman's 
Academie," by Markham ; and the other well- 
known treatises that were the manuals of ancient 
sportsmen, they have them at their fingers' ends ; 
but they have more especially studied some old 
tapestry in the house, whereon is represented a 
party of cavaliers and stately dames, with doub- 
lets, caps, and flaunting feathers, mounted on horse, 
with attendants on foot, all in animated pursuit 
of the game. 

The Squire has discountenanced the killing of 
any hawks in his neighborhood, but gives a lib- 
eral bounty for all that are brought him alive ; so 
that the Hall is well stocked with all kinds of 
birds of prey. On these he and Master Simon 
have exhausted their patience and ingenuity, en- 
deavoring to " reclaim " them, as it is termed, and 
to train them up for the sport ; but they have 
met with continual checks and disappointments. 
Their feathered school has turned out the most 
untractable and graceless scholars : nor is it the 
least of their labor to drill the retainers who were 
to act as ushers under them, and to take immedi- 
ate charge of these refractory birds. Old Christy 
and the gamekeeper both, for a time, set their 
faces against the whole plan of education : Christy 
having been nettled at hearing what he terms a 
wild-goose chase put on a par with a fox-hunt ; 
and the gamekeeper having always been accus- 
tomed to look upon hawks as arrant poacher? 
which it was his duty to shoot down, and nail, in 
terrorem, against the out-houses. 



FALCONRY, 133 

Christy has at length taken the matter in hand, 
but has done still more mischief by his intermed- 
dling. He is as positive and wrong-headed about 
this, as he is about hunting. Master Simon has 
continual disputes with him as to feeding and 
training the hawks. He reads to him long pas- 
sages from the old authors I have mentioned ; 
but Christy, who cannot read, has a sovereign 
contempt for all book-knowledge, and persists in 
treating the hawks according to his own notions, 
which are drawn from his experience, in younger 
days, in the rearing of game-cocks. 

The consequence is, that, between these jarring 
systems, the poor birds have had a most trying 
and unhappy time of it. Many have fallen vic- 
tims to Christy's feeding and Master Simon's phys- 
icking ; for the latter has gone to work secundem 
artem, and has given them all the vomitings and 
scourings laid down in the books ; never were 
poor hawks so fed and physicked before. Others 
have been lost by being but half " reclaimed " or 
tamed ; for, on being taken into the field, they 
have " raked " after the game quite out of hear- 
ing of the call, and never returned to school. 

All these disappointments had been petty, yet 
sore grievances to the Squire, and had made hiui 
to despond about success. He has lately, how- 
ever, been made happy by the receipt of a fine 
Welsh falcon, which Master Simon terms a stately 
highflyer. It is a present from the Squire's 
friend, Sir Watkyn Williams Wynne ; and is, no 
doubt, a descendant of some ancient line of Welsh 
princes of the air, that have long lorded it cjvftr 



}M BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

their kingdom of clouds, from Wynnstay to the 
very summit of Snowden, or the brow of Pen- 
man mawr. 

Ever since the Squire received this invaluable 
present, he has been as impatient to sally forth 
and make proof of it, as was Don Quixote to as- 
say his suit of armor. There have been some 
demurs as to whether the bird was in proper 
health and training ; but these have been over- 
ruled by the vehement desire to play with a new 
toy ; and it has been determined, right or wrong, 
in season or out of season, to have a day's sport 
in hawking to-morrow. 

The Hall, as usual, whenever the Squire is 
about to make some new sally on his hobby, is all 
agog with the thing. Miss Temple ton, who is 
brought up in reverence for all her guardian's 
humors, has proposed to be of the party, and 
Lady Lillycraft has talked also of riding out to 
the scene of action and looking on. This has 
gratified the old gentleman extremely ; he hails it 
as an auspicious omen of the revival of falconry, 
and does not despair but the time will come when 
it will be again the pride of a fine lady to carry 
about a noble falcon in preference to a parrot or 
a lap-dog. 

I have amused myself with the bustling prep- 
arations of that busy spirit. Master Simon, and 
the continual thwartings he receives from that 
genuine son of a pepper-box, old Christy. They 
have had half a dozen consultations about how 
the hawk is to be prepared for the morning's 
Bport. Old Nimrod, as usual, has always got in 



FALCONRY, 



135 



a pet, upon which Master Simon has invariably 
given up the point, observing, in a good-humored 
tone, " Well, well, have it your own way, Christy ; 
only don't put yourself in a passion ; " a reply 
wliich always nettles the old man ten times moi'e 
than ever 



HAWKING. 

The soaring hawk, from fist that flies, 

Her falconer doth constrain, 
Sometimes to range the ground about, 

To find her out again ; 
And if by sight, or sound of bell, 

His falcon he may see, 
Wo ho I he cries, with cheerful Toice — 

The gladdest man is he. 

IIandpull op Pleasant Delites. 




T an early hour this morning the Hall 
was in a bustle, preparing for the sport 
of the day. I heard Master Simon 
whistling and singing under my window at sun- 
rise, as he was preparing the jesses for the hawk's 
legs, and could distinguish now and then a stanza 
of one of his favorite old ditties : 

" In peascod time, when hound to horn 
Gives note that buck be kili'd; 
And little boy with pipe of corn 
Is tending sheep a-field," &c. 

A hearty breakfast, well flanked by cold meats, 
was served up in the great hall. The whole 
garrison of retainers and hangers-on were in mo- 
tion, reinforced by volunteer idlers from the vil- 
lage. The horses were led up and down before 
the door ; everybody had something to say, and 



HAWKING, 137 

something to do, and hurried hither and thither ; 
there was a direful yelping of dogs : some that 
were to accompany us bein^- eager to set off, and 
others that ^vere to stay at home being whipped 
back to their kennels. In short, for once, the 
good Squire's mansion might have been taken as 
a good specimen of one of the rantipole establish- 
ments of the good old feudal times. 

Breakfast being finished, the chivalry of the 
Hall prepared to take the field. The fair Julia 
was of the party, in a hunting-dress, with a light 
plume of feathers in her riding-hat. As she 
mounted her favorite galloway, 1 remarked with 
pleasure that old Christy forgot his usual crusti- 
ness, and hastened to adjust her saddle and bridle. 
He touched his cap as she smiled on him and 
thanked iiim ; and then, looking round at the other 
attendants, gave a knowing nod of his head, in 
which I read pride and exultation at the charm- 
ing appearance of his pupil. 

Lady Lillycraft had likewise determined tci 
witness the sport. She was dressed in her broad 
white beaver, tied under the chin, and a riding- 
habit of the last century. She rode her sleek, 
ambling pony, whose motion was as easy as a 
rocking-chair, and was gallantly escorted by the 
general, who looked not unlike one of the doughty 
heroes in the old prints of the battle of Blenheim. 
The parson, likewise, accompanied her on the 
other side ; for this was a learned amusement in 
which he took great interest, and, indeed, had 
given much counsel, from his knowledge of old 
customs. 



138 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

At leiigtli everything was arranged, and we 
get off from the HalL The exercise on horseback 
puts one in fine spirits ; and the scene was gay 
and animating. The young men of the family 
accompanied Miss Templeton. She sat lightly 
and gracefully in her saddle, her plumes dancing 
and waving in the air; and the group had a 
charming effect as they appeared and disappeared 
among the trees, cantering along with the bound- 
ing animation of youth. The Squire and Master 
Simon rode together, accompanied by old Christy, 
mounted on Pepper. The latter bore the hawk 
on his list, as he insisted the bird was most ac- 
customed to him. There was a rabble rout on 
foot, composed of retainers from the Hall, and 
some idlers from the village, with two or three 
spaniels, for the purpose of starting the game. 

A kind of corps de reserve came on quietly in 
the rear, composed of Lady Lilly craft. General 
Harbottle, the parson, and a fat footman. Her 
ladyship ambled gently along on her pony, while 
the general, mounted on a tall hunter, looked 
down upon her with an air of the most protect- 
ing gallantry. 

For my part, being no sportsman, I kept with 
this last party, or rather lagged behind, that I 
might take in the whole picture ; and the parson 
occasionally slackened his pace and jogged on in 
company with me. 

The sport led us at some distance from the 
Hall, in a soft meadow, reeking with the moist 
verdure of spring. A little river ran through it, 
bordered by willows, which had put forth their 



HA WRING, 139 

^nder early foliage. The sportsmen were in 
quest of herons which were said to keep about 
this stream. 

There was some disputing, already, among the 
leaders of the sport. The Squire, Master Simon, 
and old Christy, came every now and then to a 
pause, to consult together, like the field-officers in 
an army ; and I saw, by certain motions of the 
head, that Christy was as positive as any old 
wrong-headed German commander. 

As we were prancing up this quiet meadow, 
every sound we made was answered by a distinct 
echo from the sunny wall of an old building on 
the opposite margin of the stream ; and I paused 
to listen to this " spirit of a sound," which seems 
to love such quiet and beautiful places. The 
parson informed me that this was the ruin of an 
ancient grange, and was supposed, by the country 
people, to be haunted by a dobbie, — a kind of 
rural sprite, something like Robin Goodfellow. 
They often fancied the echo to be the voice of 
the dobbie answering them, and were rather shy 
of disturbing it after dark. He added, that the 
Squire was very careful of this ruin, on account 
of the superstition connected with it. As I con- 
sidered this local habitation of an " airy nothing," 
I called to mind the fine description of an ecluj 
m Webster's " Duchess of Malfy " : 

— " Yond side o' th' river lies a wall 



Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion 
Gives the best echo that you ever heard : 
So plain is the distinction of our words, 
That many have supposed it a spirit 
That answers." 



HO BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

The parson went on to comment on a pleasing 
and fanciful appellation which the Jews of old 
gave to the echo, which they called Bath-kool, 
that is to say, " the daughter of the voice ; " they 
considered it an oracle, supplying in the second 
temple the want of the urim and thummim, with 
wln'ch the first was honored.^ The little man 
was just entering very largely and learnedly up- 
on the subject, when we were startled by a pro- 
digious bawling, shouting, and yelping. A flight 
of crows, alarmed by the approach of our forces, 
had suddenly rose from a meadow ; a cry was put 
up by the rabble rout on foot. " Now, Christy ! 
now is your time, Christy ! " The Squire and 
Master Simon, who w^ere beating up the river 
banks in quest of a heron, called out eagerly to 
Christy to keep quiet ; the old man, vexed and 
bewildered by the confusion of voices, completely 
lost his head ; in his flurry he slipped off the hood, 
east off the falcon, and away flew the crows, and 
away soared the hawk. 

I had paused on a rising ground, close to Lady 
Lillycraft and her escort, whence I had a good 
view of the sport. I was pleased with the ap- 
pearance of the party in the meadow, riding along 
in the direction that the bird flew ; their bright 
beaming faces turned up to the bright skies as 
they watched the game ; the attendants on fool 
scampering along, looking up, and ^Jailing out; 
and the dogs bounding and yelping with clamor- 
ous sympathy. 

The hawk had singled out a quarry from 
* Beleker's Monde enchants. 



HAWKING. 141 

among the carrion crew. It was curious to see 
the efforts of the two birds to get above each 
other ; one to make the fatal swoop, the other to 
avoid it. Now they crossed athwart a bright 
feathery cloud, and now they were against a clear 
blue sky. I confess, being no sportsman, I was 
more interested for the poor bird that was striv- 
ing for its life, than for the hawk that was play- 
ing the part of a mercenary soldier. At length 
the hawk got the upperhand, and made a rush- 
ing stoop at her quarry, but the latter made as 
sudden a surge downwards, and slanting up again, 
evaded the blow, screaming and making the best 
of his way for a dry tree on the brow of a 
neighboring hill ; while the hawk, disappointed 
Df her blow, soared up again into the air, and 
appeared to be " raking " off. It was in vain old 
Christy called, and whistled, and endeavored to 
lure her down ; she paid no regard to him : and, 
indeed, his calls were drowned in the shouts and 
yelps of the army of militia that had followed him 
into the field. 

Just then an exclamation from Lady Lillycraft 
made me turn my head. I beheld a complete 
confusion among the sportsmen in the little vale 
below us. They were galloping and running 
towards the edge of a bank ; and I was shocked 
to see Miss Templeton's horse galloping at large 
without his rider. I rode to the place to which 
the others were hurrying, and when I reached 
the bank, which almost overhung the stream, I 
saw at the foot of it the fair Julia, pale, bleeding, 
and apparently lifeless, supported in the arms of 
Uer frantic lover. 



142 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

In galloping heedlessly along, with her e/es 
turned upward, she had unwarily approached too 
near the bank ; it had given way with her, and 
she and her horse had been precipitated to the 
pebbled margin of the river. 

I never saw greater consternation. The cap- 
tain was distracted, Lady Lillycraft fainting, the 
Squire in dismay, and Master Simon at his wit's 
ends. The beautiful creature at length showed 
signs of returning life ; she opened her eyes 
looked around her upon the anxious group, and 
comprehending in a moment the nature of the 
scene, gave a sweet smile, and putting her hand 
in her lover's, exclaimed feebly, " I am not much 
hurt, Guy ! " I could have taken her to my heart 
for that single exclamation. 

It was found, indeed, that she had escaped al- 
most miraculously, with a contusion of the head. 
a sprained ankle, and some slight bruises. After 
her wound was stanched, she was taken to a 
neighboring cottage, until a carriage could be 
summoned to convey her home ; and when this 
had arrived, the cavalcade, which had issued forth 
so gayly on this enterprise, returned slowly and 
pensively to the Hall. 

I had been charmed by the generous spirit 
shown by this young creature, who amidst pain 
and danger had been anxious only to relieve the 
distress of those around her. I was gratified, 
therefore, by the universal concern displayed by 
the domestics on our return. They came crowd- 
ing down the avenue, each eager to render assist- 
ance. The butler stood ready with some curi- 



HA WRING, 148 

jusly delicate cordial; the old housekei^per was 
provided with half a dozen nostrums, prepared by 
her own hands according to the family receipt- 
book ; while her niece, the melting Phoebe, hav- 
ing no other way of assisting, stood wringing her 
hands, and weeping aloud. 

The most material effect that is likely to follow 
this accident, is a postponement of the nuptials, 
which were close at hand. Though I commiser- 
ate the impatience of the captain on that account, 
yet I should not otht^rwise be sorry at the de- 
lay, as it will give me a better opportunity of 
studying the characters here assembled, with 
which I grow more and more entertained. 

I cannot but perceive that the worthy Squire 
is quite disconcerted at the unlucky result of his 
hawking experiment, and this unfortunate illus- 
tration of his eulogy on female equitation. Old 
Christy, too, is very waspish, having been sorely 
twitted by Master Simon for having let his hawk 
fly at carrion. As to the falcon, in the confusion 
occasioned by the fair JuHa's disaster, the bird 
was totally forgotten. I make no doubt she has 
made the best of her way back t-o the hospitable 
hall of Sir Watkyn Williams Wyiine ; and may 
very possibly, at this present wrUing* be pluming 
her wings among the breezy bowers oi Wyuo^tivy. 



ST. MARK'S EVE. 

O -t is a fearful thing to be no more. 

Or if to be, to wander after death ! 

To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day, 

And, when the darkness comes, to glide in paths 

That lead to graves ; and in the silent vault, 

Where li(!S your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it, 

Striving to enter your forbidden corpse. 

Dryden. 




HE conversation this evening at supper- 
table took a curious turn on the subject 
of a superstition, formerly very prevalent 
in this part of the country, relative to the present 
night of the year, which is the Eve of St. Mark's. 
It was believed, the parson informed us, that if 
any one would watch in the church-porch on this 
eve, for three successive years, from eleven to 
one o'clock at night, he would see on the third 
year the shades of those of the parish who were 
to die in the course of the year, pass by him into 
church, clad in their usual apparel. 

Dismal as such a sight would be, he assured 
us that it was formerly a frequent thing for 
persons to make the necessary vigils. He had 
known more than one instance in his time. One 
old woman, who pretended to have seen this 
phantom procession, was an object of great awe 



ST. MARK'S EVE, 145 

for the whole year afterwards, and caused much 
uneasiness and mischief. If she shook her head 
mysteriously at a person, it was Uke a death-war- 
rant ; and she had nearly caused the death of a 
sick person by looking ruefully in at the window. 

There was also an old man, not many years 
flince, of a sullen, melancholy temperament, who 
had kept two vigils, and began to excite some talk 
in the village, when, fortunately for the public 
comfort, he died shortly after his third watching ; 
very probably from a cold that he had taken, as 
the night was tempestuous. It was reported 
about the village, however, that he had seen his 
own phantom pass by him into the church. 

This led to the mention of another superstition 
of an equally strange and melancholy kind, which, 
however, is chiefly confined to Wales. It is re- 
specting what are called corpse candles, little 
wandering fires, of a pale bluish light, that move 
about like tapers in the open air, and are sup- 
posed to designate the way some corpse is to go. 
One w^as seen at Lanylar, late at night, hover- 
ing up and down, along the bank of the Istwith, 
and was watched by the neighbors until they 
were tired, and went to bed. Not long after 
wards there came a comely country lass, from 
Montgomeryshire, to ^ee her friends, who dwelt 
w the opposite side of the river. She thought 
to ford the stream at the very place where the 
light had been first seen, but was dissuaded on 
Hccount of the heicjht of the flood. She walked 
(0 and fro along the bank, just where the candle 
Imd moved, wai'ing for the subsiding of the wa 
10 



146 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

ter. She at length endeavored to cross, but tbt 
poor girl was drowned in the attempt.^ 

There was something mournful in this little 
anecdote of rural superstition, that seemed to af- 
fect all the listeners. Indeed, it is curious lo re- 
mark how completely a conversation of the kind 
will absorb the attention of a circle, and sobei 
down its gayety, however boisterous. By degrees 
I noticed that every one was leaning forward over 
the table, with eyes earnestly fixed upon the par- 
son, and at the mention of corpse candles which 
had been^ seen about the chamber of a young 
lady who died on the eve of her wedding-day, 
Lady Lillycraft turned pale. 

I have witnessed the introduction of stories of 
the kind into various evening circles ; they were 
often commenced in jest, and listened to with 
smiles ; but I never knew the most gay or the 
most enlightened of audiences, that were not, if 
the conversation continued for any length of time, 
completely and solemnly interested in it. There 
is, I believe, a degree of superstition lurking in 
every mind ; and I doubt if any one can thor- 
oughly examine all his secret notions and im- 
pulses without detecting it, hidden, perhaps, even 
from himself. It seems, in fact, to be a part of 
our nature, like instinct in animals, acting inde- 
pendently of our reason. It is often found exist- 
ing in lofty natures, especially those that are poet- 
ical and aspiring. A great and extraoi di/iary 
poet of our day, whose life and writings evince a 
mind subject to powerful exaltations, i? said to 
* Aubrey's Miscel. 



ST, MARK'S EVE. 147 

believe in omens and secret intimations. Caesar, 
it is well known, was greatly under the influence 
of such belief; and Napoleon had his good and 
evil days, and his presiding star. 

As to the worthy parson, I have no doubt that 
lie is strongly inclined to superstition. He is nat- 
urally credulous, and passes so much of his time 
searching out popular traditions and supernatural 
tales, that his mind has probably become infected 
by them. He has lately been immersed in the 
" Demonolatria " of Nicholas Remigius, concerning 
supernatural occurrences in Lorraine, and the 
writings of Joachimus Camerarius, called by Vos- 
sius the Phoenix of Germany; and he entertains 
the ladies with stories from them, that make them 
almost afraid to go to bed at night. I have been 
charmed myself with some of the wild little super- 
stitions which he has adduced from Blefkenius, 
SchefFer, and others, such as those of the Lapland- 
ers about the domestic spirits which wake them 
at night, and summon them to go and fish ; of 
Thor, the deity of thunder, who has power of life 
and death, health and sickness, and who, armed 
with the rainbow, shoots his arrows at those evil 
demons which live on the tops of rocks and moun- 
tains, and infest the lakes ; of the Juhles or Juhla- 
folket, vagrant troops of spirits, which roam the 
Air, and wander up and down by forests and moun- 
tains, and the moonlight sides of hills. 

The parson never openly professes his belief in 
ghosts, but I have remarked that he has a suspi- 
cious way of pressing great names into the de- 
fence of supernatural doctrines, and making pki- 



148 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

losophers and saints fight for him. He expati 
ates at large on the opinions of the ancient phi- 
losophers about hirves, or nocturnal phantoms, the 
spirits of the wicked, which wandered like exiles 
about the earth ; and about those spiritual beings 
which abode in the air, but descended occasionally 
to earth, and mingled among mortals, acting a? 
agents between them and the gods. He quotes 
also from Philo the rabbi, the contemporary of 
the apostles, and, according to some, the friend of 
St. Paul, who says that the air is full of spirits 
of different ranks ; some destined for a time to 
exist in mortal bodies, from which, being emanci- 
pated, they pass and repass between heaven and 
earth, as agents or messengers in the service of 
the Deity. 

But •the worthy little man assumes a bolder 
tone when he quotes from the fathers of the 
Church ; such as St. Jerome, who gives it as the 
opinion of all the doctors, that the air is filled with 
powers opposed to each other ; and Lactantius, 
who says that corrupt and dangerous spirits wan- 
der over the earth, and seek to console themselves 
for their own fall by effecting the ruin of the hu- 
man race ; and Clemens Alexandrinus, who is of 
opinion that the souls of the blessed have knowl 
edge of what passes among men, the same as an- 
gels have. 

I am now alone in my chamber, but these 
themes have taken such hold of my imagination, 
:hat I cannot sleep. The room in which I sit 
is just fitted to foster such a state of mind. The 
walls are hung with tapestry the figures of which 



ST. MARK'S EVE, 149 

are faded, and look like unsubstantial shapes melt- 
ing away from sight. Over the fireplace is tho 
portrait of a lady, who, according to the house- 
keeper's tradition, pined to death for the loss of 
her lover in the battle of Blenheim. She has a 
most pale and plaintive countenance, and seems to 
fix her eyes mournfully upon me. The familj 
have long since retired. I have heard their steps 
die away, and the distant doors clap to after them. 
The murmur of voices, and the peal of remote 
laughter, no longer reach the ear. The clock 
from the church, in which so many of the former 
inhabitants of this house lie buried, has chimed 
the awful hour of midnight. 

I have sat by the window and mused upon the 
dusky landscape, watching the lights disappearing, 
one by one, from the distant village ; and the 
moon rising in her silent majesty, and leading up 
all the silver pomp of heaven. As I have gazed 
upon these quiet groves and shadowy lawns, sil- 
vered over, and imperfectly lighted by streaks of 
dewy moonshine, my mind has been crowded by 
" thick coming fancies," concerning those spiritual 
beings which 

" walk the earth 

Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep." 

Are there, indeed, such beings ? Is this space 
between us and the Deity filled up by innumerable 
orders of spiritual beings forming the same grada- 
iions between the human soul and divine perfec- 
tion, that we see prevailing from humanity down- 
wards to the meanest insect ? It is a sublime 
and beautiful doctrine, inculcated by the early 



150 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

fathers, that there are guardian angels appointed 
to watch over cities and nations ; to take care of 
the welfare of good men, and to guard and guide 
the steps of helpless infancy. " Nothing," says 
St. Jerome, " gives us a greater idea of the dignity 
of our soul, than that God has given each of us, 
at the moment of our birth, an angel to have care 
of it." 

Even the doctrine of departed spirits returning 
to visit the scenes and beings which were dear to 
them during the body's existence, though it has 
been debased by the absurd superstitions of the 
vulgar, in itself is awfully solemn and sublime 
However lightly it may be ridiculed, yet the at 
tention involuntarily yielded to it whenever it is 
made the subject of serious discussion, its preva- 
lence in all ages and countries, and even among 
newly discovered nations that have had no pre- 
vious interchange of thought with other parts of 
the world, prove it to be one of those mysterious, 
and almost instinctive beliefs to which, if left to 
ourselves, we should naturally incline. 

In spite of all the pride of reason and philoso- 
phy, a vague doubt will still lurk in the mind, 
and perhaps will never be perfectly eradicated ; 
as it is concerning a matter that does not admit 
of positive demonstration. Everything connected 
with our spiritual nature is full of doubt and 
lifFiculty. " We are fearfully and wonderfully 
made ; " we are surrounded by mysteries, and wo 
are mysteries even to ourselves. Who yet has 
been able to comprehend and describe the nature 
of the soul, its connection with the body, or Id 



ST. MARK'S EVE, 151 

what part of the frame it is situated ? We kno\^ 
merely that it does exist ; but whence it came, 
and when it entered into us, and how it is re- 
tained, and where it is seated, and how it oper- 
ates, are all matters of mere speculation and con« 
tradictory theories. If, then, we are thus ignorant 
of this spiritual essence, even while it forms a 
part of ourselves, and is continually present to 
our consciousness, how can we pretend to ascer- 
tain or to deny its powers and operations when 
released from its fleshly prison-house ? It is 
more the manner, therefore, in which this super- 
stition has been degraded, than its intrinsic ab- 
surdity, that has brought it into contempt. Raise 
it above the frivolous purposes to which it has 
been applied, strip it of the gloom and horror 
with which it has been surrounded, and none of 
the whole circle of visionary creeds could more 
delightfully elevate the imagination, or more 
tenderly affect the heart. It would become a 
sovereign comfort at the bed of death, soothing the 
bitter tear wrung from us by the agony of our 
mortal separation. What could be more consol- 
ing than the idea that the souls of those whom 
we once loved were permitted to return and 
watch over our welfare ? That affectionate and 
guardian spirits sat by our pillows when we slept, 
keeping a vigil over our most helpless hours ? 
That beauty and innocence which had languished 
into the tomb, yet smiled unseen around us, re- 
vealing themselves in those blest dreams wherein 
we live over again the hours of past endearment ? 
X belief of this kind would, I should think, be a 



152 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

new incentive to virtue ; rendering us circumspect 
even in our secret moments, from the idea that 
those we once loved and honored vrere invisible 
witnesses of all our actions. 

It would take away, too, from that loneliness 
and destitution which we are apt to feel more and 
more as we get on in our pilgrimage through the 
wilderness of this world, and find that those who 
set forward with us, lovingly, and cheerily, on 
the journey, have one by one dropped away from 
our side. Place the superstition in this light, and 
I confess I should like to be a believer in it. I 
see nothing in it that is incompatible with the ten- 
der and merciful nature of our religion, nor re- 
volting to the wishes and affections of the heart. 

There are departed beings whom I have loved 
as I never again shall love in this world, — who 
have loved me as I never again shall be loved ! 
If such beings do ever retain in their blessed 
spheres the attachments which they felt on earth, 
if they take an interest in the poor concerns of 
transient mortality, and are permitted to hold 
communion with those whom they have loved on 
earth, I feel as if now, at this deep hour of night, 
in this silence and solitude, I could receive their 
visitation with the most solemn, but unalloyed 
delight. 

In truth, such visitations would be too happy 
for this world ; they would be incompatible with 
the nature of this imperfect state of being. AVe 
are here placed in a mere scene of spiritual thral- 
dom and restraint. Our souls are shut in and 
limited by bounds and barriers ; shackled by 



ST. MARK'S EVE, 133 

mortal infirmities, and subject to all the gross im- 
pediments of* matter. In vain would they seek 
to act independently of the body, and to mingle 
together in spiritual intercourse. They can only 
act here through their fleshly organs. Their 
earthly loves are made up of transient embraces 
and long separations. The most intimate friend- 
ship, of what brief and scattered portions of time 
does it consist ! We take each other by the hand, 
and we exchange a few words and looks of kind- 
ness, and we rejoice together for a few short mo- 
ments, and then days, months, years intervene, 
and we see and know nothing of each other. 
Or, granting that we dwell together for the full 
season of this our mortal life, the grave soon closes 
its gates between us, and then our spirits are 
doomed to remain in separation and widowhood ; 
until they meet again in that more perfect state 
of being, where soul will dwell with soul in bliss- 
ful communion, and there will be neither death, 
nor absence, nor anything else to interrupt our 
felicity. 

*^* In the foregoing paper I have alluded to 
the writings of some of the old Jewish rabbins. 
They abound with wild theories ; but among them 
are many truly poetical flights ; and their ideas 
are often very beautifully expressed. Their spec- 
ulations on the nature of angels are curious and 
fanciful, though much resembling the doctrines of 
the ancient philosophers. In the writings of the 
Rabbi Eleazer is an account of the temptation of 
our first parents, and the fall of the angels, which 



154 BRACEBUIDGE BALL, 

the parson pointed out to me as having probably 
furnished some of the groundwork for " Paradise 
Lost." 

According to Eleazer, the ministering angels 
said to the Deity, " What is there in man that 
thou makes t him of such importance ? Is he any- 
thing else than vanity? for he can scarcely reason 
a little on terrestrial things." To which God re- 
plied, " Do you imagine that I will be exalted 
and glorified only by you here above ? I am the 
same below that I am here. Who is there among 
you that can call all the creatures by their 
names?" There was none found among them 
that could do so. At that moment Adam arose, 
and called all the creatures by their name. See- 
ing which, the ministering angels said among 
themselves, " Let us consult together how we 
may cause Adam to sin against the Creator, other- 
wise he will not fail to become our master." 

Sammael, who was a great prince in the heav- 
ens, was present at this council, with the saints of 
the first order, and the seraphim of six bands. 
Sammael chose several out of the twelve orders 
to accompany him, and descended below, for the 
purpose of visiting all the creatures which God 
had created. He found none more cunning and 
more fit to do evil than the serpent. 

The Rabbi then treats of the seduction and 
the fall of man ; of the consequent fall of the de- 
mon, and the punishment which God inflicted on 
Adam, Eve, and the serpent. " He made them 
all come before him ; pronounced nine maledic- 
tions on Adam and Eve, and condemned them to 



ST. MARfCS EVE, 



155 



suffer death ; and he precipitated Sammael and 
all his band from heaven. He cut off the feet of 
the serpent, which had before the figure of a 
camel, (Sammael having been mounted on him,) 
and he cursed him among all beasts and ani* 
mals." 



GENTILITY. 



- True Gentrie standeth in the trade 




Of lirtuous life, not in the fleshly line ; 
For bloud is knit, but Gentrie is divine. 

Mirror for Magistrates. 

HAVE mentioned some peculiarities of 
the Squire in the education of his sons ; 
but I would not have it thought that 
his instructions were directed chiefly to their per- 
sonal accomplishments. He took great pains also 
to form their minds, and to inculcate what he 
calls good old English principles, such as are laid 
down in the writings of Peachem and his contem- 
poraries. There is one author of whom he can- 
not speak without indignation, which is Chester- 
field. He avers that he did much, for a time, to 
injure the true national character, and to intro- 
duce, instead of open manly sincerity, a hollow 
perfidious courtliness. " His maxims," he afiirras, 
*'were calculated to chill the delightful enthusi- 
asm of youth, and to make them ashamed of that 
romance which is the dawn of generous manhood, 
and to impart to them a cold polish and a pre- 
•jiature worldliness." 

-' Many of Lord Chesterfield's maxims would 
make a young man a mere man of pleasure ; but 
an English gentleman should not be a mere man 



GENTILITY. 157 

of pleasure. He has no right to such selfish in- 
dulgence. His ease, his leisure, his opulence, are 
debts due to his country, which he must ever 
stand ready to discharge. He should be a man 
at all points ; simple, frank, courteous, intelligent, 
accomplished, and informed ; upright, intrepid, and 
disinterested ; one who can mingle among free- 
men ; who can cope with statesmen ; who can 
champion his country and its rights either at 
home or abroad. In a country like England, 
where there is such free and unbounded scope for 
the exertion of intellect, and where opinion and 
example have such weight with the people, every 
gentleman of fortune and leisure should feel him- 
self bound to employ himself in some way towards 
promoting the prosperity or glory of the nation. 
In a country where intellect and action are tram- 
melled and restrained, men of rank and fortune 
may become idlers and triflers with impunity ; 
but an English coxcomb is inexcusable ; and this, 
perhaps, is the reason why he is the most offen- 
sive and insupportable coxcomb in the world." 

The Squire, as Frank Bracebridge informs me, 
would often hold forth in this manner to his sons 
when they were about leaving the paternal roof; 
one to travel abroad, one to go to the army, and 
one to the university. He used to have them 
with liim in the library, which is hung with tlie 
portraits of Sydney, Surrey, Raleigh, Wyat, and 
others. " Look at those models of true English 
gentlemen, my sons," he would say with enthu- 
siasm ; " those were men that wreathed the graces 
of the most delicate and refined taste around the 



158 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

Stern virtues of the soldier ; that mingled what 
was gentle and gracious with what was hardy and 
manly ; that possessed the true chivalry of spirit 
which is the exalted essence of manhood. -They 
are the lights by which the youth of the country 
should array themselves. They were the pat- 
terns and idols of their country at home ; they 
were the illustrators of its dignity abroad. ' Sur- 
rey,' says Camden, ' was the first nobleman that 
illustrated his high birth with the beauty of learn- 
ing. He was acknowledged to be the gallantest 
man, the politest lover, and the completest gentle- 
man of his time.' And as to Wyat, his friend 
Surrey most amiably testifies of him, that his per- 
son was majestic and beautiful, his visage ' stern 
and mild ' ; that he sung, and played the lute 
with remarkable sweetness ; spoke foreign lan- 
guages with grace and fluency, and possessed an 
inexliaustible fund of wit. And see what a high 
commendation is passed upon these illustrious 
friends : ' They were the two chieftains, who, hav- 
ing travelled into Italy, and there tasted the sweet 
and stately measures and style of the Italian poe- 
try, greatly polished our rude and homely man- 
noT of vulgar poetry from what it had been be- 
fore, and therefore may be justly called the re- 
formers of our Englisli poetry and style.' And 
Sir Philip Sydney, who has left us such monu- 
ments of elegant thought and generous sentiment, 
and who illustrated his chivalrous spirit so glori- 
ously in the field. And Sir Walter Raleigh, the 
elegant courtier, the intrepid soldier, the enter- 
prising discoverer, the enlightened philosopher 



GENTILITY, 159 

the magnanimous martyr. These are the men 
for Enghsh gentlemen to study. Chesteriield, 
with his cold and courtly maxims, would have 
chilled and impoverished such spirits. He would 
have blighted all the budding romance of their tem- 
peraments. Sydney would never have written his 
'Arcadia/ nor Surrey have challenged the world 
in vindication of the beauties of his Geraldine. 
These are the men, my sons," the Squire will con- 
tinue, " that show to what our national character 
may be exalted, when its strong and powerful qual- 
ities are duly wrought up and refined. The sol- 
idest bodies are capable of the highest polish ; and 
there is no character that may be wrought to a 
more exquisite and unsullied briglitness than that 
of the true English gentleman." 

When Guy was about to depart for the army, 
the Squire again took him aside, and gave him a 
long exhortation. He warned him against that 
affectation of cold-blooded indifference which he 
was told was cultivated by the young British offi- 
cers, among whom it was a study to " sink the 
soldier" in the mere man of fashion. "A sol- 
dier," said he, " without pride and enthusiasm in his 
profession, is a mere sanguinary hireling. Nothing 
distinguishes him from the mercenary bravo but 
a spirit of patriotism, or thirst for glory. It is the 
fashion, nowadays, my son," said he, " to laugh at 
the spirit of chivalry ; when that spirit is really 
extinct, the profession of the soldier becomes a 
mere trade of blood." He then set before him 
tlie conduct of Edward the Black Prince, who is^ 
his mirror of chivalry ; valiant, generous, affable. 



160 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

humane ; gallant in the field. But when he came 
to dwell on his courtesy toward his prisoner, the 
king of France ; how he received him in his tent, 
rather as a conqueror than as a captive ; attended 
on him at table like one of his retinue ; rode un* 
covered beside him on his entry into London*^ 
mounted on a common palfrey, while his prisoner 
was mounted in state on a white steed of stately 
beauty ; the tears of enthusiasm stood in the old 
gentleman's eyes. 

Finally, on taking leave, the good Squire put 
in his son's hands, as a manual, one of his favorite 
old volumes, the " Life of the Chevalier Bayard," 
by Godefroy ; on a blank page of which he had 
written an extract from the Morte d' Arthur, con- 
taining the eulogy of Sir Ector over the body of 
Sir Launcelot of the Lake, which the Squire con- 
siders as comprising the excellencies of a true 
soldier. " Ah, Sir Launcelot ! thou wert head of 
all Christian knights ; now there thou liest : thou 
were never matched of none earthly knights- 
hands. And thou wert the curtiest knight that 
ever bare shield. And thou were the truest 
friend to thy lover that ever bestrood horse ; and 
thou were the truest lover of a sinfall man that 
ever loved woman. And thou were the kindest 
man that ever strook with sword ; and thou were 
the goodliest person that ever came among the 
presse of knights. And thou were the meekest 
man and the gentlest that ever eate in hall among 
ladies. And thou were the sternest knight to thy 
mortal foe that ever put speare in rest." 




FORTUNE-TELLING. 

Each city, each town, and every village, 

AflFords us either an alms or pillage. 

And if the weather be cold and raw, 

Then in a barn we tumble on straw. 

If warm and fair, by yea-cock and nay -cock, 

The fields will afford us a hedge or a hay-cock. 

Mkrrt BEoaABS. 

Is I was walking one evening with the 
Oxonian, Master Simon, and the gen- 
eral, in a meadow not far from the vil- 
lage, we heard the sound of a fiddle, rudely 
played, and looking in the direction whence it 
came, we saw a thread of smoke curling up from 
among the trees. The sound of music is always 
attractive ; for, wherever there is music, there is 
good-humor, or good-will. We passed along a 
footpath, and had a peep, through a break in 
the hedge, at the musician and his party, when 
the Oxonian gave us a wink, and told us that 
if we would follow him, we should have some 
sport. 

It proved to be a gypsy encampment, consisting 
of three or four little cabins or tents, made of 
blankets and sail-cloth, spread over hoops stuck 
in the ground. It was on one side of a green 
lane, close under a hawthorn hedge, with a broad 
11 



162 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

beech-tree spreading above it. A small rill tin- 
kled along close by through the fresh sward, that 
looked like a carpet. 

A tea-kettle was hanging by a crooked piece 
of iron over a fire made from dry sticks and 
leaves, and two old gypsies, in red cloaks, sat 
crouched on the grass, gossiping over their even- 
ing cup of tea; for these creatures, though they 
live in the open air, have their ideas of fireside 
comforts. There were two or three children 
sleeping on the straw with which the tents were 
littered ; a couple of donkeys were grazing in the 
lane, and a thievish-looking dog was lying before 
the fire. Some of the younger gypsies were 
dancing to the music of a fiddle, played by a 
tall, slender stripling, in an old frock-coat, with a 
peacock's feather stuck in his hatband. 

As we approached, a gypsy girl, with a pair of 
fine roguish eyes, came up, and, as usual, offered to 
tell our fortunes. I could not but admire a cer- 
tain degree of slattern elegance about the baggage. 
Her long black silken hair was curiously plaited 
h\ numerous small braids, and negligently put up 
in a picturesque style that a painter might have 
been proud to have devised. Her dress was of 
figured chintz, rather ragged, and not over-clean, 
but of a variety of most harmonious and agreea- 
ble colors ; for these beings have a singularly fine 
eye for colors. Her straw hat was in her hand, 
and a red cloak thrown over one arm. 

The Oxonian offered at once to have his for- 
tune told, and the girl began with tlie usual vol- 
ubility of her race ; but he drew her on one s^ide. 



FORT UNE- TELLING. 163 

near the hedge, as he said he had no idea of hav* 
ing his secrets overheard. I saw he was talking 
to her instead of she to him, and by his glancing 
towards us now and then, that he Avas giving the 
baggage some private hints. When they returned 
to us, he assumed a very serious air. " Zounds ! " 
said he, " it 's very astonishing how these creatures 
come by their knowledge ; this girl has told me 
some things that I thought no one knew but 
myself!" 

The girl now assailed the general : " Come, 
your honor," said she, " I see by your face you 're 
a lucky man ; but you Ve not happy in your mind ; 
you 're not, indeed, sir : but have a good heart, 
and give me a good piece of silver, and I '11 tell 
you a nice fortune." 

The general had received all her approaches 
with a banter, and had suffered her to get hold 
of his hand ; but at the mention of the piece of 
silver, he hemmed, looked grave, and turning to 
us, asked if we had not better continue our walk. 
" Come, my master," said the girl, archly, " you 'd 
not be in such a hurry if you knew all that I 
could tell you about a fair lady that has a notion 
for you. Come, sir, old love burns strong ; there 's 
many a one comes to see weddings that go away 
brides themselves ! " — Here the girl whispered 
something in a low voice, at which the general 
colored up, was a little fluttered, and suffenid 
himself to be drawn aside under the hedge, where 
he appeared to listen to her with great earnest- 
ness, and at the end paid her half-a-crown with 
the air of a man that has got the worth of his 
money. 



164 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

The girl next made her attack upon Master 
Simon, who, however, was too old a bird to be 
caught, knowing that it would end in an attack 
upon his purse, about which he is a little sensi- 
tive. As he has a great notion, however, of be- 
ing considered a roister, he chucked her under 
the chin, played her off with rather broad jokes, 
and put on something of the rake-hellj air that 
we see now and then assumed on the stage by 
the sad-boy gentlemen of the old school. " Ah, 
your honor," said the girl, with a malicious leer, 
" you were not in such a tantrum last year, when 
I told you about the widow you know who ; but 
if you had taken a friend's advice, you'd never 
have c*ome away from Doncaster races with a flea 
in your ear ! " 

There was a secret sting in this speech that 
seemed quite to disconcert Master Simon. He 
jerked away his hand in a pet, smacked his whip, 
whistled to his dogs, and intimated that it was 
high time to go home. The girl, however, was 
determined not to lose her harvest. She now 
turned upon me, and, as I have a weakness of 
spirit where there is a pretty face concerned, 
• she soon wheedled me out of my money, and, 
in return, read me a fortune ; which, if it prove 
true, and I am determined to believe it, will 
make me one of the luckiest men in the chron- 
icles of Cupid. 

I saw that the Oxonian was at the bottom of 
nil this oracular mystery, and was disposed to 
amuse himself with the general, whose tender ap* 
proacliGS to the widow have attracted the notice 



FORTUNE-TELLING. 165 

of the wag. I was a little curious, however, to 
kiiow the meaning of the dark hints which had so 
suddenly disconcert'jl Master Simon ; and took 
occasion to fall in the rear with the Oxonian on 
our way home, when he laughed heartily at my 
questions, and gave me ample information on tht^ 
suliject. 

The truth of the matter is, that Master Simon 
has met with a sad rebuff since my Christmas 
visit to the Hall. He used at that time to be 
joked about a widow, a fine dashing woman, as 
he privately informed me. I had supposed the 
pleasure he betrayed on these occasions resulted 
from the usual fondness of old bachelors for 
being teased about getting married, and about 
flirting, and being fickle and false-hearted. I 
am assured, however, that Master Simon had 
really persuaded himself the widow had a kind- 
ness for him ; in consequence of which he had 
been at some extraordinary expense in new 
clothes, and had actually got Frank Bracebridge 
to order him a coat from Stultz. He began to 
throw out hints about the Importance of a man's 
settling himself in life before he grew old ; he 
would look grave whenever the widow and mat- 
rimony were mentioned in the same sentence ; 
and privately asked the opinion of the Squire 
and parson about the prudence of marrying a 
widow with a rich jointure, but who had several 
children. 

An important member of a great family con- 
nection cannot harp much upon the theme of mat- 



166 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

rimony without its taking wind ; and it soon got 
buzzed about that Mr. Simon Bracebridge was 
actually gone to Doncaster races, with a new 
horse ; but that he meant to return in a curricle 
with a lady by his side. Master Simon did, in- 
deed, go to the races, and that with a new horse ; 
and the dashing widow did make her appearance in 
her curricle ; but it was unfortunately drivei: by 
a strapping young Irish dragoon, with whom even 
Master Simon's self-complacency would not allow 
him to venture into competition, and to whom she 
was married shortly afterwards. 

It was a matter of sore chagrin to Master Si- 
mon for several months, having never before been 
fully committed. The dullest head in the family 
had a joke upon him ; and there is no one that 
likes less to be bantered than an absolute joker. 
He took refuge for a time at Lady Lillycraft's 
until the matter should blow over ; and occupied 
himself by looking over her accounts, regulating 
the village choir, and inculcating loyalty into a 
pet bullfinch, by teaching him to whistle " God 
save the King." 

He has now pretty nearly recovered from the 
mortification ; holds up his head, and laughs as 
much as any one ; again affects to pity married 
men, and is particularly facetious about widows, 
when Lady Lillycraft is not by. His oidy time 
of trial is when the general gets hold of him, who 
is infinitely heavy and persevering in his wag- 
gery, and will interweave a dull joke through 
the various topics of a whole dinner-time. Mas- 



FORTUNE TELLING. 167 

ter Simon often parries these attacks by a stanza 
from liis old work of " Cupid's Solicitor for 
Love " : 

* 'T is in vain to wooe a widow over long 

In once or twice her mind you may perceive | 
Widows are subtle, be they old or young, 
And by their wiles young men they will deceive." 




LOVE-CHARMS. 

Come, do not weep, my girl, 

Forget him, pretty pensiveness ; there will 
Come others, every day, as good as he. 

Sia J. SUCKLINO. 




HE approach of a wedding in a family is 
always an event of great importance, 
t ^yi but particularly so in a household like 
this, in a retired part of the country. Master Si- 
mon, who is a pervading spirit, and, through means 
of the butler and housekeeper, knows everything 
that goes forward, tells me that the maid-servants 
are continually trying their fortunes, and that the 
servants'-hall has of late been quite a scene of in- 
cantation. 

It is amusing to notice how the oddities of the 
head of a family flow down through all the 
branches. The Squire, in the indulgence of his 
love of everything which smacks of old times, has 
held so many grave conversations with the parson 
at table, about popular superstitions and tradition- 
al rites, that they have been carried from the 
parlor to the kitchen by the listening domestics, 
and, being apparently sanctioned by such high 
authority, the whole house has become infected by 
them. 



LOVE- CHARMS, 169 

The servants are all versed in the common mode? 
of trying luck, and the charms to insure constancy. 
They read their fortunes by drawing strokes in 
the ashes, or by repeating a form of words, and 
looking in a pail of water. St. Mark's Eve, I 
am told, was a busy time with them; being an 
appointed night for certain mystic ceremonies. 
Several of them sowed hemp-seed to be reaped 
by their true lovers ; and they even ventured upon 
the solemn and fearful preparation of the dumb- 
cake. This must be done fasting, and in silence. 
The ingredients are handed down in traditional 
form. "An eggshell full of salt, an eggshell full 
of malt, and an eggshell full of barley-meal." 
When the cake is ready, it is put upon a pan 
over the fire, and the future husband will ap- 
pear, turn the cake, and retire ; but if a word is 
spoken, or a fast is broken, during this awful 
ceremony, there is no knowing what horrible 
consequences would ensue ! 

The experiments, in the present instance, came 
to no result ; they that sowed the hemp-seed for- 
got the magic rhyme that they were to pronounce, 
so the true lover never appeared ; and as to the 
dumb-cake, what between the awful stillness they 
had to keep, and the awfulness of the midnight 
hour, their hearts failed them when they had put 
the cake in the pan ; so that, on the striking of 
the great house-clock in the servants'-hall, they 
were seized with a sudden panic, and ran out of 
the room, to which they did not return until morn- 
ing, when they found the mystic cake burnt to a 
cinder. 



170 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

The most persevering at these spells, however 
is Phoebe Wilkins, the housekeeper's niece. As 
she is a kind of privileged personage, and rather 
idle, she has more time to oecupy herself with 
these matters. She has always had her head full 
of love and matrimony. She knows the dream- 
book by heart, and is quite an oracle among the 
little girls of the family, who always come to her 
to interpret their dreams in the mornings. 

During the present gayetj of the house, how- 
ever, the poor girl has worn a face full of trouble ; 
and, to use the housekeeper's words, " has fallen 
into a sad hystericky way lately." It seems that 
she was born and brought up in the village, where 
her father was parish clerk, and she was an early 
playmate and sweetheart of young Jack Tibbets. 
Since she has come to live at the Hall, however, 
her head has been a little turned. Being very 
pretty, and naturally genteel, she has been much 
noticed and indulged ; and being the housekeep- 
er's niece, she has held an equivocal station be- 
tween a servant and a companion. She has 
learnt something of fashions and notions among 
the young ladies, which have effected quite a met- 
amorphosis ; insomuch that her finery at church 
on Sundays has given mortal offence to her for- 
mer intimates in the village. This has occa 
sioned the misrepresentations which have awak 
ened the implacable family pride of Dame Tibbets 
But what is worse, Phoebe, having a spice of 
coquetry in her disposition, showed it on one or 
two occasions to her lover, which produced a 
downright quarrel ; and Jack, being very proud 



LOVE- CHAR MS. 171 

ftnd fiery, has absolutely turned his back upon 
her for several successive Sundays. 

The poor girl is full of sorrow and repentance, 
and would fain make up with her lover ; but he 
feels his security, and stands aloof. In this he 
is doubtless encouraged by his mother, who is 
continually reminding him what he owes to his 
family ; for this same family pride seems doomed 
to be the eternal bane of lovers. 

As I hate to see a pretty face in trouble, 1 
have felt quite concerned for the luckless Phoebe, 
ever since I heard her story. It is a sad thing 
to be thwarted in love at any time, but particu- 
larly so at this tender season of the year, when 
every living thing, even to the very butterfly, is 
sporting with its mate ; and the green fields, and 
the budding groves, and the singing of the birds, 
and the sweet smell of the flowers, are enough 
to turn the head of a love-sick girl. I am told 
that the coolness of young Ready-Money lies very 
heavy at poor Phoebe's heart. Instead of sing- 
ing about the house as formerly, she goes about 
pale and sighing, and is apt to break into tears 
when her companions are full of merriment. 

Mrs. Hannah, the vestal gentlewoman of my 
Lady Lillycraft, has had long talks and walks 
with Phoebe, up and down the avenue, of an 
evening ; and has endeavored to squeeze some 
of her own verjuice into the other's milky na- 
ture. She speaks with contempt and abhorrence 
uf the whole sex, and advises Phoebe to despise 
all the men as heartily as she does. But Phoebe's 
loving temper is not to be curdled ; she has no 



172 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

such tiling as hatred or contempt for mankind in 
her whole composition. She lias all the simple 
fondness of heart of poor, weak, loving woman ; 
and her only thoughts at present are, how to con- 
ciliate and reclaim her wayward swain. 

The spells and love-charms, which are matters 
of sport to the other domestics, are serious cor-| 
cerns with this love-stricken damsel. She is con- 
tinually trying her fortune in a variety of ways. 
I am told that she has absolutely fasted for six 
Wednesdays and three Fridays successively, hav- 
ing understood that it was a sovereign charm to 
insure beino: married to one's likin^: within the 
year. She carries about, also, a lock of her 
sweetheart's hair, and a riband he once gave her, 
being a mode of producing constancy in a lover. 
She even went so far as to try her fortune by 
the moon, which has always had much to do with 
lovers' dreams and fancies. For this purpose she 
went out in the night of the full moon, knelt on 
a stone in the meadow, and repeated the old tra- 
ditional rhyme : 

" All hail to thee, moon, all hail to thee ; 
I pray thee, good moon, now show to me 
The youth who my future husband shall be." 

When she came back to the house, she was 
faint and pale, and went immediately to bed. 
The next morning she told the porter's wife that 
she had seen some one close by the hedge in the. 
meadow, which she was sure was young Tibbets ^ 
at any rate, she had dreamt of him all night; 
both of which, the old dame assured her, were 



LOVE-CHARMS. 



173 



most happy signs. It has since turned out that 
the person in the meadow was old Christy, the 
huntsman, who was walking his nightly rounds 
with the great stag-hound ; so that Phoebe's faith 
til the charm is completely shaken. 





THE LIBRARY. 




ESTERDAY the fair Julia made her 
first appearance down-stairs since her 
accident ; and the sight of her spread 
an universal cheerfulness through the household. 
She was extremely pale, however, and could not 
walk without pain and difficulty. She was as- 
sisted, therefore, to a sofa in the library, which 
is pleasant and retired, looking out among trees, 
and so quiet that the little birds come hopping 
upon the windows, and peering curiously into the 
apartment. Here several of the family gathered 
round, and devised means to amuse her, and 
make the day pass pleasantly. Lady Lillycraft 
lamented the want of some new novel to while 
away the time ; and was almost in a pet, because 
the " Author of Waverley " had not produced a 
work for the last three months. 

There was a motion made to call on the par- 
son for some of his old legends or ghost-stories ; 
but to this Lady Lillycraft objected, as they were 
apt to give her the vapors. General Harbottle 
gave a minute account, for the sixth time, of the 
disaster of a friend in India, who had his leg 
bitten o^ by a tiger whilst he was hunting, — 



THE LIBRARY. 175 

und was proceeding to menace the company with 
a cliapter or two about Tippoo Saib. 

At length the captain bethought himself, and 
Baid he believed he had a maimscript tale lying 
m one corner of his campaigning trunk, which, 
if he could find, and the company were desirous, 
he would read to them. The offer was eagerly 
accepted. He retired, and soon returned with a 
roll of blotted manuscript, in a very gentleman- 
like, but nearly illegible hand, and a great part 
written on cartridge paper. 

" It is one of the scribblings," said he, " of my 
poor friend, Charles Lightly, of the dragoons. 
He was a curious, romantic, studious, fanciful fel- 
low ; the favorite, and often the unconscious butt 
of his fellow-officers, who entertained themselves 
with his eccentricities. He was in some of the 
hardest service in the peninsula, and distin- 
guished himself by his gallantry. When the in- 
tervals of duty permitted, he was fond of roving 
about the country, visiting noted places, and was 
extremely fond of Moorish ruins. When at his 
quarters, he was a great scribbler, and passed 
much of his leisure with his pen in his hand. 

" As I was a much younger officer, and a very 
young man, he took me, in a manner, under his care, 
and we became close friends. He used often to 
read his writings to me, having a great confidence 
in my taste, for I always praised them. Poor fel- 
low ! he was shot down close by me at Waterloo. 
We lay wounded together for some time during 
a hard cMntest that took place near at hand. As 
I was least hurt, I tried to relieve, him, and to 



176 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

stanch the blood which flowed from a wound ir 
his breast. He lay with his head in my lap, and 
looked up thankfully in my face, but shook his 
head faintly, and made a sign that it was all over 
with him ; and, indeed, he died a few minutes af- 
terwards, just as our men had repulsed the enemy, 
and came to our relief I have his favorite dog 
and his pistols to this day, and several of his man- 
uscripts, which he gave to me at different times. 
The one I am now going to read is a tale which 
he said he wrote in Spain, during the time that 
he lay ill of a wound received at Salamanca." 

We now arranged ourselves to hear the story. 
The captain seated himself on the sofa, beside 
the fair JuHa, who I had noticed to be somewhat 
affected by the picture he had carelessly drawn of 
wounds and dangers in a field of battle. She now 
leaned her arm fondly on his shoulder, and her 
eye glistened as it rested on the manuscript of the 
poor literary dragoon. Lady Lillycraft buried 
herself in a deep, well-cushioned elbow-chair 
Her dogs were nestled on soft mats at her feet 
and the gallant general took his station in an 
arm-chair at her side, and toyed with her elegantly 
ornamented work-bag. The rest of the circle 
being all equally well accommodated, the captain 
began his story ; a copy of which I have pro- 
cured for the benefit of the reader. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 

^VTiat a life doe I lead with my master ; nothing but blo^ving of 
Dellowes, beating of spirits, and scraping of croslets I It is a verj 
secret science, for none almost can understand the language of it 
.Sublimation, almigation, calcination, rubification, albification, and 
♦ermentation ; with as many termes unpossible to be uttered as the 
arte to be compassed. — Lilly's Gallathea. 




NCE upon a time, in the ancient city 
of Grenada, there sojourned a young 
man of the name of Antonio de Cas- 
tros. He wore the garb of a student of Sala- 
manca, and was pursuing a course of reading in 
the library of the university ; and, at intervals 
of leisure, indulging his curiosity by examining 
those remains of Moorish magnificence for which 
Grenada is renowned. 

Whilst occupied in his studies, he frequently 
noticed an old man of singular appearance, who 
was likewise a visitor to the library. He was 
lean and withered, though apparently more from 
study than from age. His eyes, though bright 
luid visionary, were sunk in his head, and thrown 
into shade by overhanging eyebrows. His dress 
was always the same, — a black doublet, a short 
black coat, very rusty and threadbare, a small 
ruir, and a large overshadowing hat. 

His appetite for knowledge seemed insatiable. 
12 



178 BRACEBRWGE HALL. 

He would pass whole days in the library, absorbed 
in study, consulting a multiplicity of authors, aa 
though he were pursuing some interesting sub- 
ject through all its ramifications ; so that, when 
evening came, he was almost buried among books 
and manuscripts. 

The curiosity of Antonio was excited, and he 
inquired of the attendants concerning the stran- 
ger. No one could give him any information, 
excepting that he had been for some time past a 
casual frequenter of the library ; that his reading 
lay chiefly among works treating of the occult 
sciences, and that he was particularly curious in 
his inquiries after Arabian manuscripts. They 
added, that he never held communication with 
any one, excepting to ask for particular works ; 
that, after a fit of studious application, he would 
disappear for several days, and even weeks, and 
when he revisited the library, he would look more 
withered and ha^o^ard than ever. The student 
felt interested by this account ; he was leading 
rather a desultory life, and had all that capricious 
curiosity which springs up in idleness. He deter- 
nined to make himself acquainted with this book 
worm, and find out who and what he was. 

The next time that he saw the old man at the 
library, he commenced his approaches by request- 
ing permission to look into one of the volumes 
with which the unknown appeared to have done. 
The latter merely bowed his head in token of 
assent. After pretending to look through the 
volume with great attention, he returned it with 
many acknowledgments. The stranger made no 
reply. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA 171> 

** May I ask, senor," said Antonio, with some 
hesitation, " may I ask what you are searching 
after in all these books ? " 

Tlie old man raised his head, w;ith an expres- 
sion of surprise at having his studies interrupted 
for the first time, and by so intrusive a question. 
lie surveyed the student with a side-glance from 
liead to foot : " Wisdom, my son," said he, calmly : 
" and the search requires every moment of my at- 
tention." He then cast his eyes upon his book 
and resumed his studies. 

" But, father," said Antonio, " cannot you spare 
a moment to point out the road to others ? It is 
to experienced travellers, like you, that we stran- 
gers in the path of knowledge must look for di- 
rections on our journey." 

The stranger looked disturbed : " I have not 
time enough, my son, to learn," said he, " much 
less to teach. I am ignorant myself of the path 
of true knowledge ; how then can I show it to 
others ? " 

'"Well, but father" — 

" Seiior," said the old man, mildly, but ear- 
nestly, " you must see that I have but a few more 
steps to the grave. In that short space have I 
to accomplish the whole business of my existence. 
I have no time for words ; every word is as one 
grain of sand of my glass wasted. Suffer me to 
be alone." 

There was no replying to so complete a closing 
of the door of intimacy. The student found 
Himself calmly but totally repulsed. Though cu- 
rious and inquisitive, he was naturally modest, and 



180 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

on after-tlioughts blushed at his own intrusion. 
His mind soon became occupied by other objects. 
He passed several days wandering among the 
mouldering piles of Moorish architecture, those 
melancholy monuments of an elegant and volup- 
tuous people. He paced the deserted halls of the 
Alhambra, the paradise of the Moorish kings. 
He visited the great court of the lions, famous for 
the perfidious massacre of the gallant Abencer- 
rages. He gazed witli admiration at its Mosaic 
cupolas, gorgeously painted in gold and azure ; its 
basins of marble, its alabaster vase, supported by 
lions, and storied v/ith inscriptions. 

His imagination kindled as he wandered among 
these scenes. They were calculated to awaken 
all the enthusiasm of a youthful mind. Most of 
the halls have anciently been beautified by foun- 
tains. The fine taste of the Arabs delighted in 
the sparkling purity and reviving freshness of 
water, and they erected, as it were, altars on 
every side, to that delicate element. Poetry 
mingles with architecture in the Alhambra. It 
breathes along the very walls. Wherever Anto- 
nio turned his eye, he beheld inscriptions in Ara- 
bic, wherein the perpetuity of Moorish power and 
splendor within these walls was confidently pre- 
dicted. Alas ! how has the prophecy been falsi- 
fied ! Many of the basins, where the fountains 
had once thrown up their sparkling showers, were 
dry and dusty. Some of the palaces were turned 
into gloomy convents^ and the barefoot monk 
paced through those courts which had once glit- 
tered with the array and echoed to the music of 
Moorish chivalrv. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 181 

In the course of his rambles, the student moro 
Diau once encountered the old man of the library 
He was always alone, and so full of thought as 
not to notice any one about him. He appeared 
to be intent upon studying those half-buried in- 
scriptions, which are found, here and there, among 
the Moorish ruins, and seem to murmur from the 
earth the tale of former greatness. The greater 
part of these have since been translated ; but 
they were supposed by many, at the time, to con- 
tain symbolical revelations, and golden maxims 
of the Arabian sao-es and astrolo^^ers. As An- 
tonio saw the stranger apparently deciphering 
these inscriptions, he felt an eager longing to 
make his acquaintance, and to participate in his 
curious researches ; but the repulse he had met 
with at the library deterred him from making any 
further advances. 

He had directed his steps one evening to the 
sacred mount which overlooks the beautiful val- 
ley watered by the Darro, the fertile plains of the 
Vega, and all that rich diversity of vale and 
mountain which surrounds Grenada with an 
earthly paradise. It was twilight when he found 
himself at the place where, at the present day, 
are situated the chapels known by the name of 
the Sacred Furnaces. They are so called from 
grottos, in which some of the primitive saints 
are said to have been burnt. At the time of 
Antonio's visit the place was an object of much 
euriosity. In an excavation of these grottos, 
several manuscripts had recently been discovered 
engraved on plates of lead. They were written 



18P BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

in the Arabian language, excepting one, which 
was in unknown characters. The Pope had is- 
sued a bull forbidding any one, under pain of 
excommunication, to speak of these manuscripts. 
The prohibition had only excited the greater cu- 
riosity ; and many reports were whispered about, 
that these manuscripts contained treasures of dai k 
and forbidden knowledge. 

As Antonio was examining the place whence 
these mysterious manuscripts had been drawn, he 
again observed the old man of the library wan- 
dering among the ruins. His curiosity was now 
fully awakened ; the time and place served to 
stimulate it. He resolved to watch this groper 
after secret and forgotten lore, and to trace him 
to his habitation. There was something like ad- 
venture in the thing, Avhich charmed his roman- 
tic disposition. He followed the stranger, there- 
fore, at a little distance ; at first cautiously, but he 
soon observed him to be so wrapped in his own 
thoughts, as to take little heed of external objects. 

They passed along the skirts of the mountain, 
and then by the shady banks of the Darro. They 
pursued their way, for some distance from Gre- 
nada, along a lonely road leading among tlie hills. 
The gloom of evening was gathering, and it was 
quite dark when the stranger stopped at the por- 
tal of a solitary mansion. 

It appeared to be a mere wing, or ruined frag- 
ment, of what had once been a pile of some con- 
sequence. The walls were of great thickness, the 
windows narrow, and generally secured by iron 
bars. The door was of planks, studded with iron 



TEE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 183 

spikes, and had been of great strength, though at 
present much decayed. At one end of the man- 
sion was a ruinous tower, in the Moorish style of 
architecture. The edifice had probably been a 
country retreat, or castle of pleasure, during the 
occupation of Grenada by the Moors, and rendered 
sufficiently strong to withstand any casual assault 
in those warlike times. 

The old man knocked at the portal. A light 
appeared at a small window just above it, and a 
female head looked out : it might have served as 
a model for one of Raphael's saints. The hair 
was beautifully braided, and gathered in a silken 
net ; and the complexion, as well as could be 
judged from the light, was that soft, rich brunette 
60 becoming in southern beauty. 

" It is I, my child," said the old man. The face 
instantly disappeared, and soon after a wicket- 
door in the large portal opened. Antonio, who 
had ventured near to the building, caught a tran- 
sient sight of a delicate female form. A pair of 
fine black eyes darted a look of surprise at seeing 
a stranger hovering near, and the door was pre 
cipitately closed. 

There was something in this sudden gleam of 
beauty that wonderfully struck the imagination 
of the student. It was like a brilliant flashing 
from its dark casket. He sauntered about, re- 
garding the gloomy pile with increasing interest. 
A few simple, wild notes, from among some rocks 
and trees at a little distance, attracted his atten- 
don. He found there a group of Gitanas, a vag- 
abond gypsy race, which at that time abounded 



184 BRACEBRWGE HALL, 

in Spain, and lived in hovels and caves of the 
hills about the neighborhood of Grenada. Some 
were busy about a fire, and others were listening 
to the uncouth music which one of their compan- 
ions, seated on a ledge of the rock, was making 
with a split reed. 

Antonio endeavored to obtain some information 
of them concerning the old building and its inhab- 
itants. The one who appeared to be their spokes- 
man was a gaunt fellow, with a subtle gait, a whis- 
pering voice, and a sinister roll of the eye. He 
shrugged his shoulders on the student's inquiries, 
and said, "All was not ri^fht in that buildinfr. 
An old man inhabited it, whom nobody knew, and 
whose family appeared to be only a daughter and 
a female servant. I and my companions," he 
added, " live up among the neighboring hills : 
and as we have been about at night, we have of- 
ten seen strange lights and heard strange sounds 
from the tower. Some of the country people, 
who work in the vineyards among the hills, be- 
lieve the old man deals in the black art, and they 
are not over-fond of passing near the tower at 
night. But for our parts, we Gitanas are not a| 
people to trouble ourselves with fears of that kind."! 

The student endeavored to gain more precise 
information, but they had none to furnish him. 
They began to be solicitous for a compensation 
for what they had already imparted ; and recollect- 
ing the loneliness of the place, and the vagabond 
character of his companions, he was glad to give 
them a gratuity and hasten homewards. 

He sat down to his studies, but his brain was 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 185 

too full of what he had seen and heard ; his eye 
was upon the page, but his fancy still returned to 
the tower, and he was couiinuaily picturing the 
little window, with the beautiful head peeping 
out ; or the door half open, and the nymph-like 
form within. He retired to bed, but the same 
objects haunted his dreams. He was young and 
susceptible ; and the excited state of his feelings, 
from wandering among the abodes of departed 
grace and gallantry, had predisposed him for a 
sudden impression from female beauty. 

The next morning he strolled again in the di 
rection of the tower. It was still more forlorn 
by tiie broad glare of day than in the gloom of 
evening. The walls were crumbling, and weeds 
and moss were growing in every crevice. It had 
the look of a prison rather than a dwelling-house. 
In one angle, however, he remarked a window 
which seemed an exception to the surrounding 
squalidness. There was a curtain drawn within 
it, and flowers standing on the window-stone. 
Whilst he Avas looking at it, the curtain was par- 
tially withdrawn, and a delicate white arm, of 
the most beautiful roundness, was put forth to 
water the flowers. 

The student made a noise to attract the atten- 
tion of the fair florist. He succeeded. The cur- 
tain was further drawn, and he had a glance of 
the same lovely face he had seen the evening be- 
fore ; it was but a mere glance ; the curtain again 
Cell, and the casement closed. All this was calcu- 
lated to excite the feelings of a romantic youth. 
Had he seen the unknown under other circum- 



186 ' bracebrilge hall. 

stances, it is probable he would not have been 
struck with her beauty; but this apoearance of 
being shut up and kept apart gave her the value 
of a treasured gem. He passed and repassed 
before the house several times in the course of 
the day, but saw nothing more. He was there 
again in the evening. The whole aspect of the 
house was dreary. The narrow windows emitted 
no rays of cheerful light, to indicate social life 
within. Antonio listened at the portal, but no 
sound of voices reached his ear. Just then he 
heard the clapping to of a distant door, and fear- 
ing to be detected in the unworthy act of eaves- 
dropping, he precipitately drew off to the opposite 
side of the road, and stood in the shadow of a 
ruined archway. 

He now remarked a light from a window in 
the tower. It was fitful and changeable ; com- 
monly feeble and yellowish, as if from a lamp ; 
with an occasional glare of some vivid metallic 
color, followed by a dusky glow. A column of 
dense smoke would now and then rise in the air, 
and hang like a canopy over the tower. There 
was altoorether such a loneliness and seeming 
mystery about the building and its inhabitants, 
that Antonio was half inclined to indulge the 
country people's notions, and to fancy it the den 
of some powerful sorcerer, and the fair damsel he 
had seen to be some spellbound beauty. 

After some time had elapsed, a light appeared 
in the window where he had seen the beautiful 
arm. The curtain was down, but it was so thin 
that he could pe 'ceive the shadow of some one 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 187 

passing and repassing between it and the light 
He fancied he could distinguish that the form was 
delicate ; and from the alacrity of its movements, 
it was evidently youthful. He had not a doubt 
but this was the bedchamber of his beautiful un- 
known. 

Presently he heard the sound of a guitar, and 
a female voice singing. He drew near cautiously, 
and listened. It was a plaintive Moorish ballad, 
and he recognized in it the lamentations of one 
of the Abencerrages on leaving the walls of lovely 
Grenada. It was full of passion and tenderness. 
It spoke of the delights of early life ; the hours 
of love it had enjoyed on the banks of the Darro, 
and among the blissful abodes of the Alhambra. 
It bewailed the fallen honors of the Abencerrages 
and imprecated vengeance on their oppressors. 
Antonio was affected by the music. It singu- 
larly coincided with the place. It was like the 
voice of past times echoed in the present, and 
breathing among the monuments of its departed 
glories. 

The voice ceased ; after a time the light dis- 
appeared, and all was still. "She sleeps!" said 
Antonio, fondly. He lingered about the building 
with the devotion with which a lover lingers 
about the bower of sleeping beauty. The rising 
moon threw its silver beams on the gray walls, 
and glittered on the casement. The late gloomy 
landscape gradually became flooded with its ra- 
diance. Finding, therefore, that he could no 
longer move about in obscurity, and fearful that 
his loiterings might be observed, he reluctantly 
••etired. 



188 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

The curiosity which had at first drawn the 
Voung man to the tower was now seconded by 
feelings of a more romantic kind. His studies 
WQYQ ahnost entirely abandoned. He maintained 
a kind of blockade of the old mansion ; he would 
take a book with him, and pass a great part of 
the day under the trees in its vicinity ; keeping 
a vigilant eye upon it, and endeavoring to as- 
certain what were the walks of his mysterious 
charmer. She never went out, however, except 
to mass, when she was accompanied by her 
father. He waited at the door of the church, 
and offered her the holy water, in the hopes 
of touching her hand : a little office of gallantry 
common in Catholic countries. She modestly 
declined, Avithout raising her eyes to see who 
made the offer, and always took it herself from 
the font. She was attentive in her devotion : 
her eyes were never taken from the altar or the 
priest ; and on returning home, her countenance 
v/as almost entirely concealed by her mantilla. 

Antonio had now carried on the pursuit for 
several days, and was hourly getting more and 
more interested in the chase, but never a step 
nearer to the game. His lurkings about the house 
had probably been noticed, for he no longer saw 
the fair face at the window, nor the white arm 
put forth to water the flowers. His only conso- 
lation was to repair nightly to his post of obser- 
vation and listen to her warbling ; and if by 
chance he could catch a sight of her shadow, pass- 
ing and repassing before the window, he thought 
himself most fortunate. 



ThE ISrUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 189 

As he was indulging in one of these evening 
vigils, which were complete revels of the imagi- 
nation, the sound of approaching footsteps made 
him withdraw into the deep sLjdow of the ruined 
archway, opposite to the towc*. A cavalier ap- 
proached, wrapped in a large Spanish cloak. 
He paused under the window of the tower, and 
after a little while began a serenade, accompanied 
by his guitar, in the usual style of Spanish gal- 
lantry. His voice was rich and manly ; he 
touched the instrument with skill, and sang with 
amorous and impassioned eloquence. The plume 
of his hat was buckled by jewels that sparkled 
in the moonbeams ; and, as he played on the 
guitar, his cloak falling off from one shoulder 
showed him to be richly dressed. He was evi- 
dently a person of rank. 

The idea now flashed across Antonio's mind, 
that the affections of his unknown beauty might 
be engaged. She was young, and doubtless sus- 
ceptible ; and it was not in the nature of Spanish 
females to be deaf and insensible to music and 
admiration. The surmise brought with it a feel- 
ing of dreariness. There was a pleasant dream 
of several days suddenly dispelled. He had 
never before experienced anything of the tender 
passion ; and, as its morning dreams are always 
delightful, he would fain have continued in the 
delusion. 

" But what have I to do with her attachments ? '' 
thought he ; "I have no claim on her heart, nor 
even on her acquaintance. How do I know that 
she is worthy of affection ? Or if she is, must not 



190 BRACEBRIDGE H^LL. 

SO gallant a lover as this, with his jewels, his rank, 
and his detestable music, have completely capti- 
vated her ? What idle humor is this that I have 
fallen into ? I must again to my books. Study, 
study will soon chase away all these idle fancies ! " 

The more he thought, however, the more he 
became entangled in the spell which his lively 
imagination had woven round him ; and now that 
a rival had appeared, in addition to the other ob- 
stacles that environed this enchanted beauty, she 
*ippeared ten times more lovely and desirable. It 
was some slight consolation to him to perceive 
that the gallantry of the unknown met with no 
apparent return from the tower. The light at 
the window Wcis extinguished. The curtain re- 
mained undrawn, and none of the customary sig- 
nals were given to intimate that the serenade was 
accepted. 

The cavalier lingered for some time about the 
place, and sang several other tender airs with a 
taste and feeling that made Antonio's heart ache ; 
at length he slowly retired. The student re- 
mained with folded arms, leaninj? ag^ainst the 
rumed arch, endeavoring to summon up resolutioi 
to depart ; but a romantic fascination still en 
chained him to the place. " It is the last time, 
said he, willing to compromise between his feel- 
ings and his judgment, "- it is the last time ; then 
let me enjoy the dream a few moments longer." 

As his eye ranged about the old building to 
take a farewell look, he observed the strange light 
m the tower, which he had noticed on a former 
occasion. It kept beaming up, and declining, as 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 191 

before. A pillar of smoke rose in the air, and 
liung in sable volumes. It was evident the old 
man was busied in some of those operations which 
had gained him the reputation of a sorcerer 
throughout the neighborhood. 

Suddenly an intense and brilliant glare shone 
through the casement, followed by a loud report, 
and then a fierce and ruddy glow. A figure ap- 
peared at the window, uttering cries of agony or 
alarm, but immediately disappeared, and a body of 
smoke and flame whirled out of the narrow aper- 
ture. Antonio rushed to the portal, and knocked 
at it with vehemence. He was only answered by 
loud shrieks, and found that the females were al- 
ready in helpless consternation. With an exertion 
of desperate strength, he forced the wicket from 
its hinges, and rushed into the house. 

He found himself in a small vaulted hall, and 
by the light of the moon which entered at the 
door, he saw a staircase to the left. He hurried 
up it to a narrow corridor, through which was 
rolling a volume of smoke. He found here the 
two females in a frantic state of alarm ; one of 
them clasped her hands, and implored him to save 
her father. 

The corridor terminated in a spiral flight of 
steps, leading up to the tower. He sprang up it 
to a small door, through the chinks of which came 
a glow of light, and smoke was spuming out. He 
burst it open, and found himself in an antique 
vaulted chamber, furnished with furnace, and va- 
rious chemical apparatus. A shattered retort lay 
on the stone floor ; a quantity of combustible*. 



192 BRACEBRTDGE HALL. 

nearly consumed, witti various half-burnt books 
and papers, were sending up an expiring flame, 
and fillino; the chamber with stifllno^ smoke. Just 
within the threshold lay the reputed conjurer. 
He was bleeding, liis clothes were scorched, and 
he appeared lifeless. Antonio caught him up, 
and bore him down the stairs to a chamber in 
which there was a light, and laid him on a bed. 
The female domestic was dispatched for such ap- 
pliances as the house afforded ; but the daughter 
threw herself frantically beside her parent, and 
could not be reasoned out of her alarm. Her 
dress was all in disorder ; her dishevelled hair 
hung in rich confusion about her neck and bosom, 
and never was there beheld a lovelier picture of 
terror and affliction. 

The skilful assiduities of the scholar soon pro- 
duced signs of returning animation in his patient. 
The old man's wounds, though severe, were not 
dangerous. They had evidently been produced 
by the bursting of the retort ; in his bewilder- 
ment he had been enveloped in the stifling metal- 
lic vapors which had overpowered his feeble 
frame, and had not Antonio arrived to his assist- 
ance, it is possible he might never have recov- 
ered. 

By slow degrees he came to his senses. He 
looked about with a bewildered air at the cham- 
ber, the agitated group around, and the student 
who was leaning over him. 

" Where am I ? " said he, wildly. 

At the sound of his voice his daughter uttered 
a faint exclamation of delight. " My poor Inez ! *' 



THE ISTUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 193 

said he, embracing her ; then putting his hand to 
his head, and taking it away stained with blood, 
he seemed suddenly to recollect himself, and to be 
overcome with emotion. 

" Ah ! " cried he, " all is over with me ! all 
gone ! all vanished ! gone in a moment ! the labor 
of a lifetime lost ! " 

His daughter attempted to soothe him, but he 
became slightly delirious, and raved incoherently 
about malignant demons, and about the habitation 
of the green lion being destroyed. His wounds 
being dressed, and such other remedies adminis- 
tered as his situation required, he sunk into a 
state of quiet. Antonio now turned his attention 
to the daughter, whose sufferings had been little 
inferior to those of her father. Having with 
great difficulty succeeded in tranquillizing her 
fears, he endeavored to prevail upon her to retire, 
and seek the repose so necessary to her frame, 
proffering to remain by her father until morning. 
" I am a stranger," said he, "it is true, and my of- 
fer may appear intrusive ; but I see you are lonely 
and helpless, and I cannot help venturing over 
the limits of mere ceremony. Should you feel any 
scruple or doubt, however, say but a word, and I 
will instantly retire." 

Tliere was a frankness, a kindness, and a mod- 
esty mingled in Antonio's deportment, which in- 
spired instant confidence ; and his simple schol- 
ar's garb was a recommendation in the house of 
poverty. The females consented to resign the suf- 
ferer to his care, as they would be the better able 
to attend to him on the morrow. On retiring, the 
13 



194 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

old domestic was profuse in her benedictions ; the 
daughter only looked her thanks ; but as thej 
shone through the tears that filled her fine black 
eyes, the student thought them a thousand times 
the most eloquent. 

Here, then, he was, by a singular turn of 
cliance, completely housed within this mysterious 
mansion. When left to himself, and the bustle 
of the scene was over, his heart throbbed as he 
looked round the chamber in which he was sitting. 
It was the daughter's room, the promised land 
toward which he had cast so many a longing 
gaze. Tlie furniture was old, and had probably 
belonged to the building in its prosperous days ; 
but everything was arranged with propriety. 
The flowers which he had seen her attend stood 
in the window ; a guitar leaned against a table, 
on which stood a crucifix, and before it lay a 
missal and a rosary. There reigned an air of 
purity and serenity about this little nestling-place 
of innocence ; it was the emblem of a chaste and 
quiet mind. Some few articles of female dress 
lay on the chairs ; and there was the very bed 
on which she had slept ; the pillow on which her 
soft cheek had reclined ! The poor scholar was 
treading enchanted ground ; for what fairy land 
has more magic in it -han the bedchamber of in- 
nocence and beauty ? 

From various expressions of the old man in 
his ravings, and from what he had noticed on a 
subsequent visit to the tower, to see that the fire 
was extinguished, Antouio had gathered that his 
patient was an alcliemist. The philosopher's 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 195 

Stone was an object eagerly sought after by vis* 
ionaries in those days ; but in consequence of 
the superstitious prejudices of the times, and 
the frequent persecutions of its votaries, they 
v^^ere apt to pursue their experiments in secret 
in lonely houses, in caverns and ruins, or in the 
privacy of cloistered cells. 

In the course of the night the old man had 
several fits of restlessness and delirium ; he would 
call out upon Theophrastus, and Geber, and Al- 
bertus Magnus, and other sages of his art ; and 
anon would murmur about fermentation and pro- 
jection, until, toward daylight, he once more sunk 
into a salutary sleep. When the morning sua 
darted his rays into the casement, the fair Inez, 
attended by the female domestic, came blushing 
into the chamber. The student now took his 
leave, having himself need of repose, but obtained 
ready permission to return and inquire after the 
sufferer. 

When he called again, he found the alchemist 
languid and in pain, but apparently suffering 
more in mind than in body. His delirium had 
left him, and he had been informed of the partic- 
ulars of his deliverance and of the subsequent 
attentions of the scholar. He could do little 
more than look his thanks, but Antonio did not 
require them ; his own heart repaid him for all 
that he had done, and he almost rejoiced in the 
disaster that had gained him an entrance into this 
mysterious habitation. The alchemist was so 
helpless as to need much assistance ; Antonio re- 
mained with him, therefore, the greater part of 



196 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

the day. He repeated his visit the next day, and 
the next. Every day his company seemed more 
pleasing to the invalid ; and every day he felt 
his interest in the latter increasing. Perhaps the 
presence of the daughter might have been at the 
bottom of this solicitude. 

He had frequent and long conversations with 
<?he alchemist. He found him, as men of his pur- 
^ lits were apt to be, a mixture of enthusiasm and 
timplicity ; of curious and extensive reading on 
points of little utility, with great inattention to 
the every-day occurrences of life, and profound 
igi;orance of the world. He was deeply versed 
in singular and obscure branches of knowledge, 
and much given to visionary speculations. An- 
tonio, whose mind was of a romantic cast, had 
himself given some attention to the occult sci- 
ences, and he entered upon these themes with an 
ardor that delighted the philosopher. Their con- 
versations frequently turned upon astrology, div- 
ination, and the great secret. The old man 
would forget his aches and wounds, rise up like a 
spectre in his bed, and kindle into eloquence on 
his favorite topics. When gently admonished of 
his situation, it would but prompt him to another 
sally of thought. 

" Alas, my son ! " he would say, " is not this 
very decrepitude and suffering another proof of 
the importance of those secrets with which we 
are surrounded? Why are we trammelled by 
disease, withered by old age, and our spirits 
quenched, as it were, within us, but because we 
have lost those secrets of life and youth which 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 197 

were known to our parents before their fall ? 
lo regain these have philosophers been ever 
since aspiring ; but just as they are on the point 
of securing the precious secrets forever, the brief 
period of life is at an end ; they die, and with 
them all their wisdom and experience. ' Noth- 
ing,' as De Nuysment observes, — ' nothing is 
wanting for man's perfection but a longer life, less 
crossed with sorrows and maladies, to the attain- 
mg of the full and perfect knowledge of things.' " 

At length Antonio so far gained on the heart 
of his patient as to draw from him the outlines 
of his story. 

Felix de Vasques, the alchemist, was a native 
of Castile, and of an ancient and honorable line. 
Early in life he had married a beautiful female, 
a descendant from one of the Moorish families. 
The marriage displeased his father, who consid- 
ered the pure Spanish blood contaminated by this 
foreign mixture. It is true, the lady traced her 
descent from one of the Abencerrages, the most 
gallant of Moorish cavaliers, who had embraced 
the Christian faith on beinof exiled from the w^alls 
of Grenada. The injured pride of the father, 
however, was not to be appeased. He never saw 
his son afterwards; and on dying left him but a 
scanty portion of his estate ; bequeathing the resi- 
due, in the piety and bitterness of his heart, to 
the erection of convents, and the performance of 
masses for souls in purgatory. Don Felix re- 
sided for a lonoj time in the neighborhood of Val- 
tadolid, in a state of embarrassment and obscurity 
He devoted himself to intense study, having, 



198 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

while at the university of Salamanca, imbibed a 
taste for the secret sciences. He was enthusias- 
tic and speculative ; he went on from one branch 
of knowledge to another, until he became zealous 
in the search after the grand Arcanum. 

He had at first engaged in the pursuit with the 
hopes of raising himself from his present obscu- 
rity, and resuming the rank and dignity to which 
his birth entitled him ; but, as usual, it ended in 
absorbing every thought, and becoming the busi- 
ness of his existence. He was at length aroused 
from this mental abstraction by the calamities of 
his household. A malignant fever swept off his 
wife and all his children, excepting an infant 
daughter. These losses for a time overwhelmed 
and stupefied him. His home had in a manner 
died away from around him, and he felt lonely 
and forlorn. When his spirit revived within him, 
he determined to abandon the scene of his humil- 
iation and disaster ; to bear away the child that 
was still left him, beyond the scene of contagion, 
and never to return to Castile until he should be 
enabled to reclaim the honors of his line. 

He had ever since been wandering and unset- 
tled in his abode. Sometimes the resident of 
populous cities, at other times of absolute soli- 
tudes. He had searched libraries, meditated on 
inscriptions, visited adepts of different countries, 
ind sought to gather and concentrate the rays 
which had been thrown by various minds upon 
the secrets of alchemy. He had at one time 
travelled quite to Padua to search for the manu- 
Bcripts of Fietro d'Abano, and to insper.t an urn 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 199 

which had been dug up near Este, supposed to 
have been buried by Maximus Olybius, and to 
have contained the grand elixir.* 

While at Padua he met with an adept versed 
in Arabian lore, who talked of the invaluable 
manuscripts that must remain in the Spanish 
libraries, preserved from the spoils of the Moorish 
academies and universities ; of the probability of 
meeting with precious unpublished writings of 
Geber, and Alfarabius, and Avicenna, the great 
physicians of the Arabian schools, who, it w^as 
well known, had treated much of alchemy ; but, 
above all, he spoke of the Arabian tablets of lead 
which had recently been dug up in the neighbor- 
hood of Grenada, and wliich, it was confidently 
believed among adepts, contained the lost secrets 
of the art. 

The indefatigable alchemist once more bent his 
steps for Spain, full of renovated hope. He had 
made his way to Grenada ; he had wearied him- 
self in the study of Arabic, in deciphering in- 

* This urn was found in 1533. It contained a lesser one, 
in which was a burning lamp betwixt two small vials, the 
one of gold, the other of silver, both of them full of a very 
clear liquor. On the largest was an inscription stating that 
Maximus Olybius shut up in this small vessel elements which 
he had prepared witfi great toil. There were many disquisi- 
tions among the learned on the subject. It was the most 
received opinion that this Maximus Olybius was an inhab- 
itant of Padua ; that he had discovered the great secret, and 
that these vessels contamed liquor, one to transmute metals 
to gold, the other to silver. The peasants who found the 
urns, imagining this precious liquor to be common water, spflt 
e\ ery drop, so that the art of transmuting metals remam/i ai 
Ti ^ch a secret as ever. 



200 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

scriptioris, in rummaging libraries, and exploring 
every possible trace left by the Arabian sages. 

In all his wanderings he had been accompanied 
by Inez ; througli the rough and the smooth, the 
pleasant and the adverse ; never complaining, but 
rather seeking to soothe his cares by her innocent 
and playful caresses. Her instruction had been 
the employment and the delight of his hours of 
relaxation. She had grown up while they were 
wandering, and had scarcely ever known any 
home but by his side. He was family, friends, 
home, everything to her. He had carried her in 
his arms when they first began their wayfaring ; 
had nestled her, as an eagle does its young, among 
the rocky heights of the Sierra Morena ; she had 
sported about him in childhood in the solitudes 
of the Bateucas ; had followed him, as a lamb 
does the shepherd, over the rugged Pyrenees, and 
into the fair plains of Languedoc ; and now she 
was grown up to support his feeble steps among 
the ruined abodes of her maternal ancestors. 

His property had gradually wasted away in the 
course of his travels and his experiments. Still 
hope, the constant attendant of the alchemist, had 
led him on ; ever on the point of reaping the re- 
ward of his labors, and ever disappointed. With 
the credulity that often attended his art, he attrib- 
uted many of his disappointments to the machi- 
nations of the malignant spirits which beset the 
path of the alchemist, and torment him in his 
solitary labors. '* It is their constant endeavor/* 
he observed, " to close up every avenue to those 
Bublime truths which would enable man to rise 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 201 

above the abject state into which he has fiiUen, 
and to return to his original perfection." To the 
evil offices of these demons he attributed his lato 
disaster. He had been on the very verge of the 
glorious discovery ; never were the indications 
more completely auspicious ; all was going on 
prosperously, when, at tlie critical moment which 
should have crowned his labors with success, and 
have placed him at the very sununit of human 
power and felicity, the bursting of a retort had 
reduced his laboratory and himself to ruins. 

'' I must now," said he, " give up at the very 
threshold of success. My books and papers are 
burnt ; my apparatus is broken. I am too old 
to bear up against these evils. The ardor that 
once inspired me is gone ; my poor frame is ex- 
hausted by study and watchfulness, and this last 
misfortune has hurried me towards the grave." 
He concluded in a tone of deep dejection. An- 
tonio endeavored to comfort and reassure him ; 
but the poor alchemist had for once awakened to 
a consciousness of the worldly ills gathering 
around him, and had sunk into despondency. 
After a pause, and some though tfulness and per- 
plexity of brow, Antonio ventured to make a 
proposal. 

" I have long," said he, " been filled with a love 
for the secret sciences, but have felt too ignorant 
and ditiident to give myself up to them. You 
have ac(|uired experience ; you .have amassed the 
knowledge of a lifetime ; it were a pity it should 
be thrown away. You say you are too old to 
lenew the toils of the laboratory ; suffer me to 



202 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

undertake them. Add your knowledge to my 
youth and activity, and what shall we not accom- 
plish ? As a probationary fee, and a fund on 
which to proceed, I will bring into the common 
Btock a sum of gold, the residue of a legacy, 
which has enabled me to complete my education. 
A poor scholar cannot boast much ; but I trust 
we shall soon put ourselves beyond the reach rf 
want ; and if we should fail, why, I must depend, 
like otlier scholars, upon my brains to carry me 
through the world." 

The philosopher's spirits, however, were more 
depressed than the student had imagined. This 
last shock, following in the rear of so many dis- 
appointments, had almost destroyed the reaction 
of his mind. The fire of an enthusiast, however, 
is never so low, but that it may be blown again 
into a flame. By degrees the old man was 
cheered and reanimated by the buoyancy and ar- 
dor of his sanguine companion. He at length 
agreed to accept of the services of the student, 
and once more to renew his experiments. He 
objected, however, to using the student's gold, 
notwithstanding his own was nearly exhausted ; 
but this objection was soon overcome ; the student 
insisted on making it a common stock and com- 
mon cause ; — and then how absurd was any del- 
icacy about such a trifle, with men who looked 
forward to discovering the philosopher's stone ! 

AVhile, therefore, the alchemist was slowly re- 
covering, the student busied himself in getting 
the laboratory once more in order. It was 
Strewed with the wrecks of retorts and alemb ics,^ 



TEE STUDENT OF 3ALAMANCA. 203 

(vith old crucibles, boxes and phials of powders 
and tinctures, and half-burnt books and manu- 
scripts. 

As soon as the old man was sufficiently re- 
covered, the studies and experiments were re- 
newed. The student became a privileged and 
frequent visitor, and was indefatigable in his toils 
in the laboratory. The philosopher daily de- 
rived new zeal and spirits from the animation of 
his disciple. He was now enabled to prosecute 
the enterprise with continued exertion, having so 
active a coadjutor to divide the toil. While he 
was poring over the writings of Sandivogius, 
and Philalethes, and Dominus de Nuysment, and 
endeavoring to comprehend the symbolical lan- 
guage in which they have locked up their myste- 
ries, Antonio would occupy himself among the re- 
torts and crucibles, and keep the furnace in a per- 
petual glow. 

With all his zeal, however, for the discovery of 
the golden art, the feelings of the student had 
not cooled as to the object that first drew him to 
this ruinous mansion. During the old man's ill- 
ness, he had frequent opportunities of being near 
the daughter ; and every day made him more 
sensible to her charms. There was a pure sim- 
plicity, and an almost passive gentleness in her 
manners ; yet with all this was mingled some- 
tliing, whether mere maiden shyness, or a con- 
sciousness of high descent, or a dash of Castilian 
pride, or perhaps all united, that prevented undue 
familiarity, and made her difficult of approach. 
The danf^er of her father and the measures to bo 



204 LRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

taken for liis relief, had at first overcome thia 
coyness and reserve ; but as he recovered and 
her alarm subsided, she seemed to shrink from 
the familiarity she had indulged with the youth- 
ful stranger, and to become every day more shy 
and silent. 

Antonio had read many books, but this was 
the first volume of womankind that he had ever 
studied. He had been captivated with the very 
title-page ; but the further he read the more he 
was delighted. She seemed formed to love ; her 
soft black eye rolled languidly under its long 
silken lashes, and wherever it turned, it would 
linger and repose ; there was tenderness in QY^ry 
beam. To him alone she was reserved and dis- 
tant. Now that the common cares of the sick- 
room were at an end, he saw little more of her 
than before his admission to the house. Some- 
times he met her on his way to and from the lab- 
oratory, and at such times there was ever a smile 
and a blush ; but, after a simple salutation, she 
glided on and disappeared. 

" 'T is plain," thought Antonio, " my presence 
is indifferent, if not irksome to her. She has 
noticed my admiration, and is determined to dis- 
courage it ; nothing but a feeling of gratitude 
prevents her treating me with marked distaste ; — 
and then has she not another lover, rich, gallant, 
splendid, musical ? how can I suppose she would 
turn her eyes from so brilliant a cavalier to a 
poor obscure student, raking among the cinders 
of hor father's laboratory ? " 

Indeed, the idea of the amorous serenader con- 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 205 

tinually haunted his mind. He felt conTin.ted 
that he was a favored lover ; yet, if so, why did 
Le not frequent the tower ? Why did he not make 
his approaches by noonday ? There was mys- 
tery in this eavesdropping and musical courtship. 
Surely Inez could not be encouraging a secret 
intrigue ! Oh, no ! she was too artless, too pure, 
too ingenuous ! But then the Spanish females 
were so prone to love and intrigue ; and music 
and moonlight were so . seductive, and Inez had 
Buch a tender soul languishing in every look. 
'' Oh ! " would the poor scholar exclaim, clasping 
his hands, — " oh that I could but once behold 
those loving eyes beaming on me with affection ! " 

It is incredible to those who have not experi- 
enced it, on what scanty aliment human life and 
human love may be supported. A dry crust, 
thrown now and then to a starving man, will 
give him a new lease of existence ; and a faint 
smile, or a kind look, bestowed at casual inter- 
vals, will keep a lover loving on, when a man in 
his sober senses would despair. 

When Antonio found himself alone in the lab- 
oratory, his mind would be haunted by one of 
these looks, or smiles, which he had received in 
passing. He would set it in every possible light, 
and argue on it with all thS self-pleasing, self- 
teasing logic of a lover. 

The country around was enough to awaken 
tliat voluptuousness of feeling so favorable to the 
growth of passion. The windows of the to we'' 
rose above the trees of the romantic valley of 
the Darro, and looked down upon some of the 



206 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

loveliest scenery of the Vega, where groves of 
Citron and orange were refreshed by cool spnvig3 
and brooks of the purest water. The Xenel and 
the Darro wound their shhiins: streams along 
the plain, and gleamed from among its bowers. 
The surrounding hills were covered with vine- 
yards, and the mountains, crowned with snow, 
seemed to melt into the blue sky. The delicate 
airs that played about the tower were perfumed 
by the fragrance of myrtle and orange blossoms, 
and the ear was charmed with the fond warbling 
of the nightingale, which, in these happy regions, 
sings the whole day long. Sometimes, too, there 
was the idle song of the muleteer, sauntering 
along the solitary road, or the notes of the gui- 
tar from some group of peasants dancing in the 
shade. All these were enough to fill the head 
of a young lover with poetic fancies ; and 
Antonio would picture to himself how he could 
loiter among those happy groves, and wander by 
those gentle rivers, and love away his life with 
Inez. 

He felt at times impatient at his own weakness, 
and would endeavor to brush away these cobwebs 
of the mind. He would turn his thought, with 
sudden effort, to his occult studies, or occupy him* 
self in some perplexing process ; but often, when 
he had partially succeeded in fixing his attention, 
the sound of Inez's lute, or the soft notes of her 
voice, would come stealing upon the stillness of 
the chamber, and, as it were, floating round the 
tower. There was no great art in her per- 
formance ; but Antonio thought he had never 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 207 

heard music comparable to this. It was perfect 
witchcraft to hear her warble forth some oi her 
national melodies ; those little Spanish romances 
and Moorish ballads which transport the hearer, 
in idea, to the banks of the Guadalquiver, or the 
walls of the Alhambra, and make him dream of 
beauties, and balconies, and moonlight serenades. 

Never was poor student more sadly beset than 
Antonio. Love is a troublesome companion in a 
study at the best of times ; but in the laboratory 
of an alchemist his intrusion is terribly disas- 
trous. Instead of attending to the retorts and 
crucibles, and watching the process of some ex- 
periment intrusted to his charge, the student 
would get entranced in one of these love-dreams, 
from which he would often be aroused by some 
fatal catastrophe. The philosopher, on returning 
from his researches in the libraries, would find 
everything gone wrong, and Antonio in despair 
over the ruins of the whole day's work. The 
old man, however, took all quietly, for his had 
been a life of experiment and failure. 

" We must have patience, my son," would ho 
say, " as all the great masters that have gone be- 
fore us have had. Errors, and accidents, and de- 
lays, are what we have to contend with. Did 
not Pontanus err two hundred times before he 
could obtain even the matter on which to found 
his experiments ? The great Flamel, too, did he 
not labor four-and-t wen ty years, before he ascer- 
tained tlie first agent ? What difficulties and 
hardships did not Cartilaceus encounter, at the 
very threshold of his discoveries ? And Bernard 



208 BRACEBRIDGE ITALL. 

de Treves, even after lie had attained a knowl- 
edge of all the requisites, was he not delayed full 
three years ? What you consider accidents, my 
son, are the machinations of our invisible ene- 
mies. The treasures and golden secrets of nature 
are surrounded by spirits hostile to man. Tlio 
air about us teems with them. They lurk in the 
fire of the furnace, in the bottom of the crucible 
and the alembic, and are ever on the alert to take 
advantage of those moments when our minds are 
wandering from intense meditation on the great 
truth that we are seeking. We must only strive 
the more to purify ourselves from those gross and 
earthly feelings which becloud the soul, and pre- 
vent her from piercing into nature's arcana." 

" Alas ! " thought Antonio, " if to be purified 
from all earthly feeling requires that I should 
cease to love Inez, I fear I shall never discover 
the philosopher's stone ! " 

In this way matters went on for some time at 
the alchemist's. Day after day was sending the 
student's gold in vapor up the chimney ; every 
blast of the furnace made him a ducat the poorer, 
without apparently helping him a jot nearer to 
the golden secret. Still the young man stood by, 
and saw piece after piece disappearing without a 
murmur: he had daily an opportunity of seeing 
Inez, and felt as if her favor would be better 
than silver or gold, and that every smile was 
worth a ducat. 

Sometimes, in the cool of the evening, when 
the toils of the laboratory happened to be sus- 
pended, he would walk with the alchemist in 



TEE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 209 

what had once been a garden belonging to the 
mansion. Tiiere were still the remains of ter- 
races and balustrades, and here and there a mar- 
ble urn, or mutilated statue overturned, and bur- 
ied among weeds and flowers run wild. It was 
the favorite resort of the alchemist in his hours? 
of relaxation, where he would give full scope to 
his visionary flights. His mind was tinctured 
with the Rosicrucian doctrines. He believed in 
elementary beings ; some favorable, others ad- 
verse to his pursuits ; and in the exaltation of his 
fancy, had often imagined that he held co.nmun- 
ion with them in his solitary walks a'>oni the 
whispering groves and echoing walls of this old 
garden. 

When accompanied by Antonio, he would pro- 
long these evening recreations. Indeed, lie some- 
times did it out of consideration for his disciple, 
for he feared lest his too close application, and 
his incessant seclusion in the tower, slio ild be in- 
jurious to his health. He was delighted and sur- 
prised by this extraordinary zeal and persever- 
ance in so young a tyro, and looked upon him as 
destined to be one of the great luminaries of the 
art. Lest the student should repine at the time 
lost in tliese relaxations, the good alchem ist would 
(ill them up with wholesome knowledge, in mat- 
tors connected with their pursuits ; and would 
walk up and down the alleys with his disciple, 
. imparting oral instruction like an ancient philoso- 
pher. In all his visionary schemes there breathed 
a spirit of lofty, though chimerical philanthropy, 
that won the admiration of the scholar. Noth- 
14 



210 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

ing sordid, nor sensual ; nothing petty nor selfish 
seemed to enter into his views, in respect to the 
grand discoveries he was anticipating. On the 
contrary, his imagination kindled with concep- 
tions of widely dispensated happiness. He looked 
forward to the time when he should be able to go 
about the earth relieving the indigent, comforting 
the distressed ; and, by his unlimited means, de* 
vising and executing plans for the complete extir- 
pation of poverty, and all its attendant sufferings 
and crimes. Never were grander schemes for 
general good, for the distribution of boundless 
wealth and universal competence, devised, than by 
this poor, indigent alchemist in his ruined tower. 

Antonio would attend these peripatetic lectures 
with all the ardor of a devotee ; but there was 
another circumstance which may have given a 
secret charm to them. The garden was the re- 
sort also of Inez, where she took her walks of 
recreation, the only exercise her secluded life 
permitted. As Antonio was duteously pacing by 
the side of his instructor, he would often catch a 
glimpse of the daughter, walking pensively about 
the alleys in the soft twilight. Sometimes they 
would meet her unexpectedly, and the heart of 
<he student would throb with agitation. A blush, 
too, would crimson the cheek of Inez, but still she 
passed on, and never joined them. 

He had remained one evening, until rather a 
late hour, with the alchemist in this favorite re- 
sort. It was a delightful night after a sultry day, 
and the balmy air of the garden was peculiarly 
reviving The old man was seated on a frigment 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 211 

of a pedestal, looking like a part of the ruin on 
which he sat. He was edifying his pupil by long 
lessons of wisdom from the stars, as they shone 
out with brilliant lustre in the dark-blue vault of 
a southern sky; for he was deeply versed in Bell- 
men, and other of the Rosicrucians, and talked 
nmch of the signature of earthly things, and pass- 
ing events, which may be discerned in the heav- 
ens ; of the power of the stars over corporeal be- 
ings, and their influence on the fortunes of the 
sons of men. 

By degrees the moon rose and shed her gleam- 
ing light among the groves. Antonio apparently 
listened with fixed attention to the sage, but his 
ear was drinking in the melody of Inez's voice, 
who was singing to her lute in one of the moon- 
light glades of the garden. The old man having 
exhausted his theme, sat gazing in silent reverie 
at the heavens. Antonio could not resist an in- 
clination to steal a look at this coy beauty, who 
was thus playing the part of the nightingale, so 
sequestered and musical. Leaving the alchemist 
in his celestial reverie, he stole gently along one 
of the alleys. The music had ceased, and he 
thought he heard the sound of voices. He came 
to an angle of a copse that had screened a kind 
of green recess, ornamented by a marble fountain. 
The moon shone full upon the place, and by its 
light he beheld his unknown serenading rival at 
the feet of Inez. He was detaining her by the 
hand, which he covered with kisses ; but at sight 
jf Antonio he started up and half drew his sword, 
while Inez, disengaged, fled back to the house. 



212 BRACEBEIDGE HALL, 

All the jealous doubts and fears of Antonio 
were now confirmed. He did not remain to en- 
counter the resentment of his happy rival at be- 
ing thus interrupted, but turned from the place in 
Budden wretchedness of heart. That Inez should 
love another would have been misery enough ; 
but that she should fee capable of a dishonorable 
amour, shocked him to the soul. The idea of 
deception in so young and apparently artless a 
being, brought with it that sudden distrust in hu- 
man nature, so sickening to a youthful and in- 
genuous mind ; but when he thought of the kind, 
simple parent she was deceiving, whose affections 
all centred in her, he felt for a moment a senti- 
ment of indignation, and almost of aversion. 

He found the alchemist still seated in his vis- 
ionary contemplation of the moon. " Come hith- 
er, my son," said he, with his usual enthusiasm, 
" come, read with me in this vast volume of wis- 
dom, thus nightly unfolded for our perusaL 
Wisely did the Chaldean sages affirm, that the 
heaven is as a mystic page, uttering speech to 
those who can rightly understand; warning tlem 
of good and evil, and instructing them in the se- 
cret decrees of fate." 

The student's heart ached for his venerable 
master ; and, for a moment, he felt the futility of 
all his occult wisdom. " Alas ! poor old man ! " 
thought he, " of what avails all thy study ? Lit- 
tle dost thou dream, while busied in airy specu- 
lations among the stars, what a treason against 
thy happiness is going on under thine eyes, — as 
it were, vi thy very bosom ! — Oh, Inez ! Inez ! 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 213 

where shall we look for truth and innocence ; 
where shall we repose confidence in woman, if 
even you can deceive ? " 

It was a trite apostrophe, such as every lover 
makes when he finds his mistress not quite such 
a goddess as he had painted her. With the stu- 
dent, however, it sprang from honest anguish of 
heart. He returned to his lodgings in pitiable 
confusion of mind. He now deplored the infatua- 
tion which had led him on until his feelings were 
so thoroughly engaged. He resolved to abandon 
his pursuits at the tower, and trust to absence 
to dispel the fascination by which he had been 
spellbound. He no longer thirsted after the dis- 
covery of the grand elixir : the dream of alchemy 
was over ; for without Inez, what was the value 
of the philosopher's stone ? 

He rose, after a sleepless night, with the de- 
termination of taking his leave of the alchemist, 
and tearing himself from Grenada. For several 
days did he rise with the same resolution, and 
every night saw him come back to his pillow to 
repine at his want of resolution, and to make 
fresh determinations for the morrow. In the 
meanwhile he saw less of Inez than ever. She no 
longer walked in the garden, but remained almost 
entirely in her apartment. When she met him, 
she blushed more than usual ; and once hesitated, 
as if she would have spoken ; but after a tern 
porary embarrassment, and still deeper blushes, 
she made some casual observation, and retired. 
Antonio read, in this confusion, a consciousness of 
^ault, and of that fault's being discovered. " What 



214 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

could she Kave wished to communicate ? Per- 
haps to account for the scene in the garden ; — ^ 
but how can she account for it, or why should she 
account for it to me ? What am I to her ? — or 
rather, what is she to me ? " exclaimed he, im- 
patiently ; with a new resolution to break through 
these entanglements of the heart, and fly from 
this enchanted spot forever. 

He was returning that very night to his lodg- 
ings, full of this excellent determination, when, 
in a shadowy part of the road, he passed a per- 
son whom he recognized, by his height and form, 
for his rival : he was going in the direction of 
the tower. If any lingering doubts remained, 
here was an opportunity of settling them com- 
pletely. He determined to follow this unknown 
cavalier, and, under favor of the darkness, observe 
his movements. If he obtained access to the tower, 
or in any way a favorable reception, Antonio felt 
as if it would be a relief to his mind, and would 
enable him to fix his waverinof resolution. 

The unknown, as he came near the tower, was 
more cautious and stealthy in his approaches. 
He was joined under a clump of trees by another 
person, and they had much whispering together 
A light was burning in the chamber of Inez, the 
curtain was down, but the casement was left 
open, as the night was warm. After some time 
the light was extinguished. A considerable inter- 
val elapsed. The cavalier and his companion 
remained under covert of the trees, as if keeping 
watch. At length they approached the tower 
«rilh silent and cav^ious steps. The cavalier re- 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 215 

ceived a dark lantern from his companion, and 
threw off his cloak. The other then softly 
brought something from the clump of trees, 
which Antonio perceived to be a light ladder : 
he placed it against the wall, and the serenader 
gently ascended. A sickening sensation came 
over Antonio. Here was indeed a confirmation 
of every fear. He was about to leave the place, 
never to return, when he heard a stifled shriek 
from Inez's chamber. 

In an instant the fellow that stood at the foot 
of the ladder lay prostrate on the ground. An- 
tonio wrested a stiletto from his nerveless hand, 
and hurried up the ladder. He sprang in at the 
window, and found Inez struggling in the grasp 
of his fancied rival : the latter, disturbed from 
his prey, caught up his lantern, turned its light 
full upon Antonio, and drawing his sword, made 
a furious assault ; luckily the student saw the 
light gleam along the blade, and parried the thrust 
with the stiletto. A fierce, but unequal combat 
ensued. Antonio fought exposed to the full glare 
of the light, while his antagonist was in shadow : 
his stiletto, too, was but a poor defence against a 
rapier. He saw that nothing would save him 
but closing with his adversary and getting with- 
in his weapon : he rushed furiously upon him, 
and gave him a severe blow with the stiletto ; 
but received a wound in return from the short 
ened sword. At the same moment a blow was 
inflicted from behind, by the confederate, who 
had ascended the ladder ; it felled him to th« 
floor, and his antagonists made their escape. 



216 BRACEBUIDGE BALL. 

By this time the cries of Inez had brought hef 
father and the domestic to the room. Antonio 
was found welteruig in his blood, and senseless. 
He was conveyed to the chamber of the alche- 
mist, who now repaid in kind the attentions which 
the student had once bestowed upon him. Among 
his varied knowledge he possessed some skill in 
surgery, which at this moment was of more value 
than even his chemical lore. He stunched and 
dressed the wounds of his disciple, which on ex- 
amination proved less desperate than he had at 
first apprehended. For a few days, however, 
his case was anxious, and attended with danger. 
The old man watched over him with the affection 
of a parent. He felt a double debt of gratitude 
towards him on account of his daughter and him- 
self ; he loved him too as a faithful and zealous 
disciple ; and he dreaded lest the world should be 
deprived of the promising talents of so aspiring 
an alchemist. 

An excellent constitution soon medicined his 
wounds ; and there was a balsam in the looks 
and words of Inez, that had a healing effect on 
the still severer wounds which he carried in his 
heart. She displayed the strongest interest in 
his safety ; she called him her deliverer, her pre- 
server. It seemed as if her grateful disposition 
sought, in the warmth of its acknowledgments, to 
repay him for past coldness. But what most con- 
tributed to Antonio's recovery, was her explanation 
concerning his supposed rival. It was some time 
since he had first beheld her at church, and he 
had ever since persecuted her with his atten- 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 217 

tious. He had beset her in her walks, until she 
had been obliged to confine herself to the house, 
except when accompanied by her father. He 
had besieged her with letters, serenades, and 
every art by which he could urge a vehement, 
but clandestine and dishonorable suit. The scene 
in the garden was as much of a surprise to her 
as to Antonio. Her persecutor had been attract- 
ed by her voice, and had found his way over a 
ruined part of the wall. He had come upon her 
unawares, was detaining her by force, and plead- 
ing his insulting passion, when the appearance of 
the student interrupted him, and enabled her to 
make her escape. She had forborne to mention 
to her father the persecution which she suffered ; 
she wished to spare him unavailing anxiety and 
distress, and had determined to confine herself 
more rigorously to the house ; though it appeared 
that even here she had not been safe from his 
dainng enterprise. 

Antonio inquired whether she knew the name 
of this impetuous admirer ? She replied, that he 
had made his advances under a fictitious name ; 
but that she had heard him once called by the 
name of Don Ambrosio de Loxa. 

Antonio knew him, by report, for one of the 
most determined and dangerous libertines in all 
Grenada. Artful, accomplished, and, if he chose 
to be so, insinuating ; but daring and headlong in 
the pursuit of his pleasures ; violent and impla- 
cable in his resentments. He rejoiced to find 
that Inez had been proof against his seductions, 
md had been inspired with aversion by his splen* 



218 BRACEBRWGE HALL. 

did profligacy ; but he trembled to think of the 
dangers she had run, and he feU solicitude about 
the dangers that must yet environ her. 

At present, however, it was probable the en- 
emy had a temporary quietus. The traces of 
blood had been found for some distance from the 
ladder, until they were lost among thickets ; and 
as nothing had been heard or seen of him since, 
it was concluded that he had been seriously 
wounded. 

As the student recovered from his wounds he 
was enabled to join Inez and her father in their 
domestic intercourse. The chamber in which 
they usually met had probably been a saloon of 
state in former times. The floor was of marble ; 
the walls were partially covered with remains of 
tapestry ; the chairs, richly carved and gilt, were 
crazed with age, and covered with tarnished and 
tattered brocade. Against the wall hung a long, 
rusty rapier, the only relic that the old man re- 
tained of the chivalry of his ancestors. There 
might have been something to provoke a smile in 
the contrast between the mansion and its inhab- 
itants, between present poverty and the traces of 
departed grandeur ; but the fancy of the student had 
thrown so much romance about the edifice and its 
inmates, that everything was clothed with charms. 
The philosopher, with his broken-down pride, and 
his strange pursuits, seemed to comport with the 
melancholy ruin he inhabited ; and there was a 
native elegance of spirit about the daughter, 
that showed she would have graced the mansion 
in its happier days. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 219 

What delicious moments were these to the stu- 
.ieut 1 Inez was no longer coy and reserved. 
She was naturally artless and confiding ; though 
the kind of persecution she had experienced from 
one admirer had rendered her, for a time, sus- 
picious and circumspect towards the other, she 
now felt an entire confidence in the sincerity and 
worth of Antonio, mingled with an overflowing 
gratitude. When her eyes met his, they beamed 
with sympathy and kindness ; and Antonio, no 
longer haunted by the idea of a favored rival, 
once more aspired to success. 

At these domestic meetings, however, he had 
little opportunity of paying his court, except by 
looks. The alchemist, supposing him, like him- 
self, absorbed in the study of alchemy, endeavored 
to cheer the tediousness of his recovery by long 
conversations on the art. He even brought sev- 
eral of his half-burnt volumes, which the student 
had once rescued from the flames, and rewarded 
him for their preservation by reading copious 
passages. He would entertain him with the great 
and good acts of Flamel, which he effected 
through means of the philosopher's stone, reliev- 
ing widows and orphans, founding hospitals, build- 
ing churches, and what not ; or with the interrog- 
atories of King Kalid, and the answers of Mori- 
enus, the Roman hermit of Hierusalem ; or the 
profound questions which Elardus, a necromancer 
of the province of Catalonia, put to the devil, touch- 
ing the secrets of alchemy, and the devil's replies. 

All these were couched in occult language, al- 
most ur intelligible to the unpractised ear of the 



220 BRACEBRIDGE HAIL. 

disciple. Indeed, the old man delighted in lh« 
mystic phrases and symbolical jargon in whicb 
the writers that have treated of alchemy have 
wrapped their communications ; rendering them 
incomprehensible except to the initiated. With 
what rapture would he elevate his voice at 
a triumphant passage, announcing the grand dis- 
covery ! " Thou shalt see," would he exclaim, in 
the words of Henry Kuhnrade,* " the stone of 
the philosophers (our king) go forth of the bed- 
chamber of his glassy sepulchre into the theatre 
of this world ; that is to say, regenerated and 
made perfect, a shining carbuncle, a most temper- 
ate splendor, whose most subtle and dephurated 
parts are inseparable, united into one with a con- 
cordial mixture, exceeding equal, transparent as 
crystal, shining red like a ruby, permanently col- 
oring or ringing, fixt in all temptations or trials ; 
yea, in the examination *of the burning sulphur 
itself, and the devouring waters, and in the most 
vehement persecution of the fire, always incom- 
bustible and permanent as a salamander ! " 

The student had a high veneration for the 
fathers of alchemy, and a piofbund respect for 
his instructor ; but what was Henry Kuhnrade, 
Geber, LuUy, or even Albertus Magnus himself, 
compared to the countenance of Inez, which pre- 
sented such a page of beauty to his perusal? 
While, therefore, the good alchemist was doling 
out knowledge by the hour, his disciple would 
forget books, alchemy, everything but the lovely 
object before him. Inez, too, unpractised in tha 
* Amphitheatre of the Eternal Wisdom. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 221 

Bi^i'eiice of the heart, was gradually becoming fas- 
cinated by the silent attentions of her lover. 
Day by day she seemed more and more per- 
plexed by the kindling and strangely pleasing 
emotions of her bosom. Her eye was often cast 
down in thought. Blushes stole to her cheek 
without any apparent cause, and light, half-sup- 
pressed sighs would follow these short fits of 
musing. Her little ballads, though the same 
that she had always sung, yet breathed a more 
tender spirit. Either the tones of her voice were 
more soft and touching, or some passages were 
delivered with a feeling which she had never be- 
fore given them. Antonio, beside his love for 
the abstruse sciences, had a pretty turn for music ; 
and never did philosopher touch the guitar more 
tastefully. As, by degrees, he conquered the 
mutual embarrassment that kept them asunder, 
he ventured to accompany Inez in some of her 
songs. He had a voice full of fire and tender- 
ness ; as he sang, one would have thought, from 
the kindling blushes of his companion, that he had 
been pleading his own passion in her ear. Let 
tliose who would keep two youthful hearts asun- 
der beware of music. Oh ! this leaning over 
chairs, and conning the same music-book, and en- 
twining of voices, and melting away in harmo- 
nies ! — the German waltz is nothing to it. 

The worthy alchemist saw nothing of all this. 
His mind could admit of no idea that was not 
connected with the discovery of the grand arca- 
uum, and he supposed his youthful coadjutor 
equally devoted. He was a mere child as to hu 



222 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

man nature ; and, as to the passion of love, what- 
ever he miu^ht once have felt of it, he had loii^ 
since forgotten that there was such an idle passion 
in existence. But, while he dreamed, the silent 
amour went on. The very quiet and seclusion 
of the place were favorable to the growth of ro- 
mantic passion. The opening bud of love was 
able to put forth leaf by leaf, without an adverse 
wind to check its growth. There was neither 
officious friendship to chill by its advice, nor in- 
sidious envy to wither by its sneers, nor an ob- 
serving world to look on and stare it out of coun- 
tenance. There was neither declaration, nor vow, 
nor any other form of Cupid's canting school. 
Their hearts mingled together, and understood 
each other without the aid of language. They 
lapsed into the full current of affection, uncon- 
scious of its depth, and thoughtless of the rocks 
that might lurk beneath its surface. Happy 
lovers ! who wanted nothing to make their fe- 
licity complete but the discovery of the pliiloso- 
pher's stone. 

At length Antonio's health was sufficiently re- 
stored to enable him to return to his lodgings in 
(Irenada. He felt uneasy, however, at leaving 
the tower, while lurking danger might surround 
its almost defenceless inmates. He dreaded lest 
Don Ambrosio, recovered from his wounds, might 
plot some new attempt, by secret art or open vi- 
olence. From all that he had heard, he knew 
liim to be too implacable to suffi3r his defeat to 
pass unavenged, and too rash and fearless, w^hen 
his arts were unavailing, to stop at any daring 



THE STUDENT OF SALA3iANCA. 223 

deect in the accomplishment of his purposes. He 
urged his apprehensions to the alchemist and his 
daughter, and proposed that they should abandon 
the dangerous vicinity of Grenada. 

" I have relations," said he, " in Valencia, poor 
indeed, but worthy and affectionate. Among 
them you will find friendship and quiet, and we 
may there pursue our labors unmolested." He 
went on to paint the beauties and delights of Va- 
lencia with all the fondness of a native, and all 
the eloquence with which a lover paints the fields 
and groves which he is picturing as the future 
scenes of his happiness. His eloquence, backed 
by the apprehensions of Inez, was successful with 
the alchemist, who, indeed, had led too unsettled 
a life to be particular about the place of his resi- 
dence ; and it was determined that, as soon as 
Antonio's health was perfectly restored, they 
should abandon the tower, and seek the delicious 
neighborhood of Valencia."* 

To recruit his strength, the student suspended 
his toils in the laboratory, and spent the few re- 
maining days, before departure, in taking a fare- 

* Here are the strongest silks, the sweetest wines, the ex- 
cellent'st almonds, the best oyls and beautifull'st females of 
all Spain. The very bruit animals make themselves beds of 
rosemary, and other fragrant flowers hereabouts; and when 
one is at sea, if the winde blow from the shore, he may smell 
this soyl before he come in sight of it many leagues off, by tho 
strong oderiferous scent it casts. As it is the most pleasant, 
BO it is also the temperat'st clime of all Spain, and they com 
ttionly call it the second Italy, which made the Moors, whereof 
many thousands were disterr'd and banished hence to Barbary 
to think that Paradise was in that part of the heavens whicb 
hung over this citie. — Howell's Letters. 



224 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

well look at the enchanting environs of GrenadcU 
He felt returning health and vigor as he inhaled 
the pure temperate breezes that play about its hills ; 
and the happy state of his mind contributed 
to his rapid recovery. Inez was often the com- 
panion of his walks. Her descent, by the moth- 
er's side, from one of the ancient Moorish families, 
gave her an interest in this once favorite seat 
of Arabian power. She gazed with enthusiasm 
upon its magnificent monuments, and her memory 
was filled with the traditional tales and ballads 
of Moorish chivalry. Indeed, the solitary life she 
had led, and the visionary turn of her father's 
mind, had produced an effect upon her charac!- 
ter, and given it a tinge of what, in modern 
days, would be termed romance. All this was 
called into full force by this new passion ; for, 
when a woman first begins to love, life is all ro- 
mance to her. 

In ono of their evening strolls, they had as- 
cended to the mountain of the Sun, where is sit- 
uated the Generaliffe, the palace of pleasure, in 
the days of Moorish dominion, but now a gloomy 
convent of capuchins. They had wandered about 
its garden, among groves of orange, citron, and 
cypress, where the waters, leaping in torrents, or 
gushing in fountains, or tossed aloft in sparkling 
jets, fill the air with music and freshness. There 
i^ a melancholy mingled with all the beauties of 
this garden, that gradually stole over the feelings 
of the lovers. The place is full of the sad story 
of past times. It was the favorite abode of the 
lovely queen of Grenada, where she was sur 



THE STUDENT OF SAI.AMANCA, 225 

rounded by the delights of a gay and voluptuous 
eoiu-t. It was here, too, amidst her own bowers 
of I'oses, that her slandei'ers laid the base story 
of her dishonor, and struck a fatal blow to the 
line of the gallant Abencerrages. 

The whole garden has a look of ruin and neg- 
lect. Many of the fountains are dry and broken ; 
the streams have wandered from the>r marble 
channels, and are choked by weeds and yellow 
leaves. The reed whistles to the wmd where it 
had once sported among roses, and shaken per- 
fume from the orange-blossom. The convent-bell 
flings its sullen sound, or the drowsy vesper 
hymn floats along these solitudes, which once re- 
sounded with the song, and the dance, and the 
lover's serenade. Well may the Moors lament 
over the loss of this earthly paradise ; well may 
they remember it in their prayers, and beseecli 
Heaven to restore it to the faithful ; well may 
their ambassadors smite their breasts when they 
behold these monuments of their race, and sit 
down and weep among the fading glories of Gre- 
nada ! 

It is impossible to wander about these sceneb 
of departed love and gayety, and not feel the ten- 
derness of the heart awakened. It was then that 
Antonio first ventured to breathe his passion, and 
to express by words what his eyes had long since 
so eloquently revealed. He made his avowal with 
fervor, but with frankness. He had no gay pros- 
pects to hold out ; he was a poor scholar, depend- 
ent on his " good spirits to feed and clothe him.'' 
T^u' a woman in love is no interested calculator. 
15 



226 BRACEBRi3GE HALL, 

Inez listened to him with downcast ej es, but in 
them was a humid gleam that showed .\er heart 
was with him. She had no prudery in her na- 
ture ; and she had not been sufficiently in society 
to acquire it. She loved him with all the ab- 
sence of worldliness of a genuine woman . and, 
amidst timid smiles and blushes, he drew .rom 
her a modest acknowledgment of her affection. 

They wandered about the garden with that 
sweet intoxication of the soul which none but 
happy lovers know. The world about them was 
all fairy land ; and, indeed, it spread forth one of 
its fairest scenes before their eyes, as if to fulfil 
their dream of earthly happiness. They looked 
out from between groves of orange upon the tow- 
ers of Grenada below them ; the magnificent 
plain of the Vega beyond, streaked with evening 
sunshine, and the distant hills tinted with rosy and 
purple hues ; it seemed an emblem of the happy 
future that love and hope were decking out for 
them. 

As if to make the scene complete, a group of 
Andalusians struck up a dance, in one of the vis- 
tas of the garden, to the guitars of two wandering 
musicians. The Spanish music is wild and plain- 
tive, yet the people dance to it with spirit and en- 
thusiasm. The picturesque figures of the dances, 
the girls with their hair in silken nets that hung 
in knots and tassels down their backs, their man- 
tillas floating round their graceful forms, their 
Blender feet peeping from under their basquinas, 
their arms tossed up in the air to play the casta- 
nets, had a beautiful effect on this airy height, with 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 227 

the rich evening landscape spreading out below 
them. 

When the dance was ended, two of the parties 
approached Antonio and Inez ; one of them be- 
gan a soft and tender Moorish ballad, accompanied 
by the other on the lute. *It alluded to the story 
of the garden, the wrongs of the fair queen of 
Grenada, and the misfortunes of the Abencerrages. 
It was one of those old ballads that abound in 
this part of Spain, and live, like echoes, about the 
ruins of Moorish greatness. The heart of Inez 
was at that moment open to every tender impres- 
sion ; the tears rose into her eyes as she listened 
to the tale. The singer approached nearer to 
her ; she was striking in her appearance ; young, 
beautiful, with a mixture of wildness and melan- 
choly in her fine black eyes. She fixed them 
mournfully and expressively on Inez, and sud- 
denly varying her manner, sang another ballad, 
which treated of impending danger and treach- 
ery. All this might have passed for a mere ac- 
cidental caprice of the singer, had there not been 
something in her look, manner, and gesticulation, 
that made it pointed and startling. 

Inez was about to ask the meaning of this evi- 
dently personal application of the song, when she 
was interrupted by Antonio, who gently drew her 
from the place. Whilst she had been lost in at- 
tention to the music, he had remarked a group of 
men, in the shadows of the trees, whispcsring to- 
gether. They were enveloped in the broad hats 
and great cloaks so much worn by the Spanish, 
and while they were regarding himself and Inez 



228 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

ftttentivrJj, seemed anxious to avoid observation. 
Not knowing what might be their character or in- 
tention, he hastened to quit a place where the 
gathering shadows of evening might expose them 
to intrusion and insult. On their way down the 
hill, as they passed through the wood of elms, 
mingled with poplars and oleanders, that skirts 
the road leading from the Alhambra, he again 
saw these men, apparently following at a dis- 
tance ; and he afterwards caught sight of them 
among the trees on the banks of the Darro. He 
said nothing on the subject to Inez, nor her father, 
lor he would not awaken unnecessary alarm ; but 
he felt at a loss how to ascertain or to avert any 
machinations that might be devising against the 
helpless inhabitants of the tower. 

He took his leave of them late at night, full 
of this perplexity. As he left the dreary old 
pile, he saw some one lurking in the shadow of 
the wall, apparently watching his movements. 
He hastened after the figure, but it glided away, 
and disappeared among some ruins. Shortly after 
he heard a low whistle, which was answered from 
a little distance. He had no longer a doubt but 
that some mischief was on foot, and turned to 
hasten back to the tower, and put its inmates on 
their guard. He had scarcely turned, however, 
before he found himself suddenly seized from be- 
hind by some one of Herculean strength. His 
struggles were in vain; he was surrounded by 
ftrmed men. One threw a mantle over him that 
Btifled his cries, and enveloped him in its folds , 
and he was hurried o^ with irresistible rapidity. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 229 

The next day passed without the appearance 
v>l Antonio at the alchemist's. Another, and an- 
other day succeeded, and yet he did not come ; 
nor had anything been heard of him at his lodg- 
ings. His absence caused, at first, surprise and 
conjecture, and at length alarm. Inez recollected 
the singular intimations of the ballad-singer upon 
the mountain, which seemed to warn her of im- 
pending danger, and her mind was full of vague 
forebodings. She sat listening to every sound at 
the gate, or footstep on the stairs. She would 
take up her guitar and strike a few notes, but 
it w^ould not do ; her heart was sickening with 
suspense and anxiety. She had never before felt 
what it was to be really lonely. She now waa 
conscious of the force of that attachment which 
had taken possession of her breast ; for never do 
we know how much we love, never do we know 
how necessary the object of our love is to our 
happiness, until we experience the weary void of 
separation. 

The philosopher, too, felt the absence of his 
disciple almost as sensibly as did his daughter. 
The animating buoyancy of the youth had in- 
spired him with new ardor, and had given to his 
labors the charm of full companionship. How- 
ever, he had resources and consolations of wdiich 
his daughter was destitute. His pursuits were 
of a nature to occupy every thought, and keep 
the spirits in a state of continual excitement. 
Certain indications, too, had lately manifested 
themselves, of the most favorable nature. Forty 
days and forty nights had the process gone ou 



230 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. 

Buccessfully ; the old man's hopes were constantly 
rising, and lie now considered the glorious mo- 
ment once more at hand, when he should obtain 
not merely the major lunaria, but likewise the 
tinctura Solaris, the means of multiplying gold, 
and of prolonging existence. He remained, 
therefore, continually shut up in his laboratory, 
watching his furnace; for a moment's inadver- 
tency might once more defeat all his expecta- 
tions. 

He was sitting one evening at one of his soli- 
tary vigils, wrapped up in meditation ; the hour 
was late, and his neighbor, the owl, was hooting 
from the battlement of the tower, when he heard 
the door open behind him. Supposing it to be 
his daughter comhig to take her leave of him for 
the night, as was her frequent practice, he called 
her by name, but a harsh voice met his ear in 
reply. He was grasped by the arms, and looking 
up, perceived three strange men in the chamber. 
He attempted to shake them off, but in vain. 
He called for help, but they scoffed at his cries. 

" Peace, dotard ! " cried one, " think'st thou 
the servants of the most holy inquisition are to 
be daunted by thy clamors? Comrades, away 
with him ! " 

Without heeding his remonstrances and en- 
treaties, they seized upon his books and papers, 
took some note of the apartment, and the uten- 
sils, and then bore him off a prisoner. 

Inez, left to herself, had passed a sad and lonely 
evening; seated by a casement which looked in- 
to the garden, she had pensively watched star 



THE STLDENT OF SALAMANCA, 231 

after star sparkle out of the blue depths of the sky, 
and was indulging a crowd of anxious thoughts 
about her lover, until the rising tears began to 
flow. She was suddenly alarmed by the sound 
of voices that seemed to come from a distant pari 
of the mansion. There was not long after a 
noise of several persons descending the stairs. 
Surprised at these unusual sounds in their lonely 
habitation, she remained for a few moments in a 
state of trembling yet indistinct apprehension, 
when the servant rushed into the room, with ter- 
ror in her countenance, and informed her that 
her father was carried off by armed men. 

Inez did not stop to hear further, but flew 
down-stairs to overtake them. She had scarcely 
passed the threshold when she found herself in 
the grasp of strangers. — " Away ! away ! " cried 
she, wildly; ''do not stop me — let me follow 
my father.** 

" We come to conduct you to him, seiiora," 
said one of the men, respectfully. 

"• Where is he then ? " 

" He is gone to Grenada," replied the man : 
" an unexpected circumstance requires his pres- 
ence there immediately ; but he is among 
friends." 

" We have no friends in Grenada," said Inez, 
drawing back. But then the idea of Antonio 
rushed into her mind ; something relating to him 
might have called her father thither. " Is Senor 
Antonio de Castros with him ? " demanded slie, 
svith agitation. 

"I knew not, seiiora," replied the man. "It 



232 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

13 very possible. I only know that your fathef 
is among friends, and is anxious for you to follow 
him." 

"Let us go, then," cried she, eagerly. The 
men led her a little distance to where a mule 
was waiting, and, assisting her to mount, they 
conducted her slowly towards the city. 

Grenada was on that eveninor a scene of fan- 
eiful revel. It was one of the festivals of the 
Maestranza, an association of the nobility to keep 
up some of the gallant customs of ancient chivalry. 
There had been a representation of a tournament 
in one of the squares ; the streets would still occa- 
sionally resound with the beat of a solitary drum, 
or the bray of a trumpet, from some straggling 
party of revellers. Sometimes they were met by 
cavaliers, richly dressed in ancient costumes, at- 
tended by their squires ; and at one time they 
passed in sight of a palace brilliantly illuminated, 
whence came the mingled sounds of music and the 
dance. Shortly after they came to the square, 
where the mock tournament had been held. It 
was thronged by the populace, recreating them- 
selves among booths and stalls where refreshments 
were sold, and the glare of torches showed the 
temporary galleries, and gay-colored awnings, and 
armorial trophies, and other paraphernalia of the 
show. The conductors of Inez endeavored to 
keep out of observation, and to traverse a gloumy 
part of the square ; but they were detained at 
one. place by the pressure of a crowd surrounding 
a party of wandering musicians, singing one of 
those ballads of which the Spanish populace ar« 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 233 

SO passionately fond. The torclies which were 
held by some of the crowd, threw a strong niasgf 
of light upon Inez, and ilie sight of so beautiful a 
being, without mantilla or veil, looking so bewil- 
dered, and conducted by men who seemed to take 
no gratification in the surrounding gayety, occa- 
sioned expressions of curiosity. One of the bal- 
lad-singers approached, and striking her guitar 
with peculiar earnestness, began to sing a doleful 
air, full of sinister forebodings. Inez started 
with surprise. It was the same ballad-singer 
that had addressed her in the garden of Gener- 
aliffe. It was the same air that she had then 
sung. It spoke of impending dangers ; they 
seemed, indeed, to be thickening around her. 
She Avas anxious to speak with the girl, and 
to ascertain whether she really had a knowledge 
of any definite evil that was threatening her ; 
but as she attempted to address her, the mule 
on which she rode was suddenly seized and led 
forcibly through the throng by one of her con- 
ductors, while she saw another addressing mena- 
cing words to the ballad-singer. The latter raised 
her hand with a warning gesture as Inez lost 
sight of her. 

While she was yet lost in perplexity, caused 
by this singular occurrence, they stopped at the 
gate of a large mansion. One of her attendants 
knocked, the door was opened, and they entered 
a paved court. " Where are we ? " demanded 
Inez, with anxiety. "At the house of a friend, 
se flora," replied the man. " Ascend this staircase 
with me, and in a moment you will meet your 
(ather." 



234 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

They ascended a staircase that led to a suite of 
gplendid apartments. They passed through sev- 
eral until they came to an inner chamber. The 
door opened ; some one approached ; but what 
was her terror on perceiving, not her father, but 
Don Ambrosio ! 

The men who had seized upon the alchemist 
had, at least, been more honest in their professions. 
They were, indeed, familiars of the inquisition. 
He was conducted in silence to the gloomy prison 
of that horrible tribunal. It was a mansion 
whose very aspect withered joy, and almost shut 
out hope. It was one of those hideous abodes 
which the bad passions of men conjure up in this 
fair world, to rival the fancied dens of demons 
and the accursed. 

Day after day went heavily by, without any- 
thing to mark the lapse of time but the decline 
and reappearance of the light that feebly glim- 
mered through the narrow window of the dun- 
geon in which the unfortunate alchemist was bur- 
ied rather than confined. His mind was harassed 
with uncertainties and fears about his daughter, 
so helpless and inexperienced. He endeavored 
to gather tidings of her from the man who 
brought his daily portion of food. The fellow 
Btared, as if astonished at being asked a question 
in that mansion of silence and mystery, but de- 
parted without saying a word. Every succeed- 
ing attempt was equally fruitless. 

The poor alchemist was oppressed with many 
griefs ; and it was not the least that he had been 
ftgain interrupted in his labors on the very point 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 235 

of success. Never was alchemist so near attain- 
ing the golden secret ; — a little longer, and all 
his hopes would have been realized. The 
thoughts of these disappointments afflicted him 
more than even the fear of all that he might suf 
fer froru the merciless inquisition. His waking 
thousrhts would follow him into his dreams. He 
would be transported in fancy to his laboratory, 
busied again among retorts and alembics, and 
surrounded by LuUy, by D'Abano, by Olybius, 
and the other masters of the sublime art. The 
moment of projection would arrive ; a seraphic 
form would arise out of the furnace, holding forth 
a vessel containing the precious elixir; but, be- 
fore he could grasp the prize, he would awake, 
and find himself in a dungeon. 

All the devices of inquisitorial ingenuity were 
employed to ensnare the old man, and to draw 
from him evidence that might be brought against 
himself, and might corroborate certain secret in- 
formation given against him. He had been ac- 
cused of practising necromancy and judicial astrol- 
ogy, and a cloud of evidence had been secretly 
brought forward to substantiate the charge. It 
would be tedious to enumerate all the circum- 
stances, apparently corroborative, which had been 
industriously cited by the secret accuser. Tiie 
silence which prevailed about the tower, its des- 
olateness, the very quiet of its inhabitants, had 
been adduced as proofs that something sinister 
was perpetrated within. The alchemist's conver- 
sations and soliloquies in the garden had been 
overheard and misrepresented. The lights and 



236 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

Strange appearances at night, in the tower, were 
given with violent exaggerations. Shrieks and 
yells were said to have been heard thence at mid- 
night, when, it was confidently asserted, the old 
man raised familiar spirits by his incantations, 
and even compelled the dead to rise from their 
graves, and answer to his questions. 

The alchemist, according to the custom of the 
inquisition, was kept in complete ignorance of 
his accuser ; of the witnesses produced against 
him ; even of the crimes of which he was accused. 
He was examined generally, whether he knew 
why he was arrested, and was conscious of any 
guilt that might deserve the notice of the holy 
office? He was examined as to his country, his 
life, his habits, his pursuits, his actions, and opin- 
ions. The old man was frank and simple in his 
replies ; he was conscious of no guilt, capable of 
no art, practised in no dissimulation. After re- 
ceiving a general admonition to bethink himself 
whether he had not committed any act deserving 
of punishment, and to prepare, by confession, to 
secure the well-known mercy of the tribunal, he 
was remanded to his cell. 

He was now visited in his dungeon by crafty 
familiars of the inquisition ; who, under pretence 
of sympathy and kindness, came to beguile the 
tediousness of his imprisonment with friendly con- 
versation. They casually introduced the subject 
of alchemy, on which they touched with great 
caution and pretended indifference. There was 
no need of such craftiness. The honest en thus i- 
ft&t had no suspicion in his nature : the moment 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 237 

they touched upon his favorite theme, he forgot 
his nii.-i fortunes and imprisonment, and broke forth 
into rhapsodies about the divine science. 

The conversation was artfully turned to the 
discussion of elementary beings. The alchemist 
readily allowed his belief in them ; and that there 
had been instances of their attending upon phi- 
losophers, and administering to their wishes. He 
related many miracles said to have been performed 
by Apollonius Thyaneus, through the aid of 
spirits or demons ; insomuch that he was set up 
by the heathens in opposition to the Messiah ; 
and was even regarded with reverence by many 
Christians. The familiars eagerly demanded 
whether he believed Apollonius to be a true and 
worthy philosopher. The unaffected piety of the 
ilchemist protected him even in the midst of his 
simplicity ; for he condemned Apollonius as a 
sorcerer and an impostor. No art could draw from 
him an admission that he had ever employed or in- 
voked spiritual agencies in the prosecution of his 
pursuits, though he believed himself to have been 
frequently impeded by their invisible interference. 

The inquisitors Avere sorely vexed at not being 
able to inveigle him into a confession of a crim- 
inal nature ; they attributed their failure to craft, 
to obstinacy, to every cause but the right one, 
namely, that the harmless visionary had nothing 
guilty to confess. They had abundant proof of a 
secret nature against him ; but it was the prac- 
tice of the inquisition to endeavor to procure con- 
fession from the prisoners. An auto da fe was at 
^and ; the worthy fathers were eager for his con- 



238 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, ^ 

viction, for they were always anxious \^ have a 
good number of culprits condemned to the stake, 
to grace these solemn triumphs. He was at 
length brought to a final examination. 

The chamber of trial was spacious and gloomy. 
At one end was a huge crucifix, the standard of 
the inquisition. A long table extended through 
the centre of the room, at which sat the inquisi- 
tors and their secretary ; at the other end a stool 
was placed for the prisoner. 

He was brought in, according to custom, bare- 
headed and bare-legged. He was enfeebled by 
confmement and affliction ; by constantly brood- 
ing over the unknown fate of his child, and the 
disastrous interruption of his experiments. He 
sat bowed down and listless ; his head sunk upon 
his breast ; his whole appearance that of one 
" past hope, abandoned, and by himself given 
over." 

The accusation alleged against him was now 
brought forward in a specific form ; he was called 
upon by name, Felix de Vasquez, formerly of 
Castile, to answer to the charges of necromancy 
and demonology. He was told that the charges 
were amply substantiated ; and was asked whether 
he was ready, by full confession, to throw himself 
upon the well-known mercy of the holy inquisi- 
tion. 

The philosopher testified some little surprise at 
tlie nature of the accusation, but simply replied, 
• I am innocent." 

^* What proof have you to give of your inno' 
cence ? " 



THJ<: STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 239 

"It rather remains for you to prove your 
charges," said the old man. " I am a stranger 
and a sojourner in the land, and know no one out 
of the doors of my dwelling. I can giv^e noth- 
ing in my vindication but the word of a noble- 
man and a Castilian." 

The inquisitor shook his head, and went on to 
repeat the various inquiries that had before been 
made as to his mode of life and pursuits. The 
poor alchemist was too feeble and too weary at 
heart to make any* but brief replies. He re- 
quested that some man of science might examine 
his laboratory, and all his books and papers, by 
which it would be made abundantly evident that 
he was merely engaged in the study of alchemy. 

To this the inquisitor observed, that alchemy 
had become a mere covert for secret and deadly 
sins. That tlie practisers of it were apt to scru- 
ple at no means to satisfy their inordinate greed- 
iness of gold. Some had been known to use 
spells and impious ceremonies ; to conjure the aid 
of evil spirits ; nay, even to sell their souls to 
the enemy of mankind, so that they might riot in 
boundless wealth while living. 

The poor alchemist had heard all patiently, or, 
at least, passively. He had disdained to vindi- 
cate his name otherwise than by his word ; he 
had smiled at the accusations of sorcery, wlicn 
applied merely to himself; but when the sublime 
art, which had been the study and passion of his 
life, was assailed, he could no longer listen in si- 
lence. His head gradually rose from his bosom ; 
a hectic color came in faint streaks to his cheeks, 



240 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

played about there, disappeared, returned, and at 
length kindled into a burning glow. The clammy 
dampness dried from his forehead ; his eyes, which 
had been nearly extinguished, lighted up again, 
and burned with their wonted and visionary fires. 
He entered into a vindication of his favorite art. 
His voice at lirst was feeble and broken ; but it 
gathered strength as he proceeded, until it rolled 
in a deep and sonorous volume. He gradually 
rose from his seat as he rose with his subject ; he 
threw back the scanty black- mantle which had 
hitherto wrapped his limbs ; the very uncouthness 
of his form and looks gave an impressive effect to 
what he uttered ; it was as though a corpse had 
become suddenly animated. 

He repelled with scorn the aspersions cast upon 
alchemy by the ignorant and vulgar. He affirmed 
it to be the mother of all art and science, citing 
the opinions of Paracelsus, Sandivogius, Ray- 
mond Lully, and others, in support of his asser- 
tions. He maintained that it was pure and inno- 
cent, and honorable both in its purposes and 
means. What were its objects ? The perpetua- 
tion of life and youth, and the production of gold. 
" The elixir vitie/' said he, " is no charmed potion, 
but merely a concentration of those elements of 
vitality which nature has scattered through her 
works. The philosopher's stone, or tincture, or 
powder, as it is variously called, is no necromantic 
talisman, but consists simply of those particles 
which gold contains within itself for its reproduc- 
tion ; for gold, like other things, has its seed 
within itself, though bound up with inconceivable 



THE STUDLAT OF SALAMANCA. 241 

firmness, from the vigor of innate fixed salts an^i 
sulphurs. In seeking to discover the elixir of 
life, then," continued he, " we seek only to apply 
some of nature's own specifics against the disease 
and decay to which our bodies are subjected • 
and what else does the physician, when lie tasks 
his art, and uses subtle compounds and cunning 
distillations to revive our languishing powers, and 
avert the stroke of death for a season ? 

" In seeking to multiply the precious metals, 
also, we seek but to germinate and multiply, b^^ 
natural means, a particular species of nature's 
productions ; and what else does the husbandman, 
who consults times and seasons, and, by what 
might be deemed a natural magic, from the mere 
scattering of his hand, covers a whole plain with 
golden vegetation ? The mysteries of our art, 
it is true, are deeply and darkly hidden ; but it 
requires so much the more innocence and purity 
of thought to penetrate unto them. No, father, 
the true alchemist must be pure in mind and 
body; he must be temperate, patient, chaste, 
watchful, meek, humble, devout. ' My son,' says 
Hermes Trismegestes, the great master of our 
art, ' my son, I recommend you above all things 
to fear God.' And indeed it is only by devout 
castigation of the senses and purification of the 
soul, that the alchemist is enabled to enter into 
the sacred chambers of truth. ' Labor, pray, and 
read,' is the motto of our science. As De Nuyse- 
ment well observes, ' these high and singular 
favors are granted unto none save only unto the 
Bons of God, (that is to say, the virtuous and de- 
16 



2-42 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

voiit,) who, under his paternal benediction, hav<» 
obtained the opening of the same, by the helping 
hand of the queen of arts, divine Philosophy. 
Indeed, so sacred has the nature of this knowl 
edge been considered, that we are told it has 
four times been expressly communicated by God 
to man, having made a part of that cabalis- 
tical wisdom which was revealed to Adam to con- 
Bole him for the loss of Paradise, to Moses in 
the bush, to Solomon in a dream, and to Esdras 
by the angel. 

" So far from demons and malign spirits being 
the friends and abettors of the alchemist, they 
are the continual foes with which he has to con- 
tend. It is their constant endeavor to shut up 
the avenues to those truths which would enable 
him to rise above the abject state into which he 
has fallen, and return to that excellence which 
was his original birthright. For what would be 
the effect of this length of days, and this abun- 
dant wealth, but to enable the possessor to go on 
from art to art, from science to science, with en- 
ergies unimpaired by sickness, uninterrupted by 
death? For this have sages and philosophers 
shut themselves up in cells and solitudes ; buried 
themselves in caves and dens of the earth ; turn- 
ing from the joys of life, and the pleasance of 
the world ; enduring scorn, poverty, persecution. 
For this was Raymond Lully stoned to death in 
Mauritania. For this did the immortal Pietro 
D'Abano suffer persecution at Padua, and when 
he escaped from his oppressors by death, was 
despitefully burnt in Q^gy. For this have illus- 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 243 

trioi.s men of all nations intrepidly suffered raar- 
tyrdora. For this, if unmolested, have they as- 
siduously employed the latest hour of life, the 
expiring throb of existence, hoping to the last that 
they might yet seize upon the prize for which they 
had struggled, and pluck themselves back even 
from the very jaws of the grave. 

" For, when once the alchemist shall have 
attained the object of his toils, when the sublime 
secret shall be revealed to his gaze, how glorious 
will be the change in his condition ! How will 
he emerge from his solitary retreat, like the sun 
breaking forth from the darksome chamber of the 
night, and darting his beams throughout the 
earth ! Gifted with perpetual youth and bound- 
less riches, to what heights of wisdom may he 
attain ! How may he carry on, uninterrupted, 
the thread of knowledge, which has hitherto been 
snapped at the death of each philosopher ! And, 
as the increase of wisdom is the increase of vir- 
tue, how may he become the benefactor of his 
fellow-men ; dispensing with liberal, but cautious 
and discriminating hand, that inexhaustible wealth 
which is at his disposal ; banishing poverty, which 
is the cause of so much sorrow and wickedness ; 
encouraging the arts ; promoting discoveries, and 
enlarging all the means of virtuous enjoyment ! 
His life will be the connecting band of genera- 
tions. History will live in his recollection ; dis- 
tant ages will speak with his tongue. The 
nations of the earth will look to him as their pre- 
i^eptor, and kings will sit at his feet and learn 
wisdom. Oh glorious ! oh celestial alchemy 1 " — 



844 BRACEBRIDGE HALL 

Here he was interrupted by the inquisitor, who 
had suffered him to go on thus far, in hopes of 
gatliering something from his unguarded enthu- 
siasm. "- Senor," said he, " this is all rambling, 
visionary talk. You are charged with sorcery, 
and in defence you give us a rhapsody about al- 
chemy. Have you nothing better than this to 
offer in your defence ? " 

The old man slowly resumed his seat, but did 
deign no reply. The fire that had beamed in his 
eye gradually expired. His cheek resumed its 
wonted paleness ; but he did not relapse into in- 
anity. He sat with a steady, serene, patient look, 
like one prepared not to contend but to suffer. 

His trial continued for a long time with cruel 
mockery of justice, for no witnesses were ever, in 
this court, confronted with the accused, and the 
latter had continually to defend himself in the 
dark. Some unknown and powerful enemy had 
alleged charges against the unfortunate alchemist, 
but who he could not imagine. Stranger and so- 
journer as he was in the land, solitary and harm- 
less in his pursuits, how could he have provoked 
such hostility ? The tide of secret testimony, how 
ever, was too strong against him : he was con- 
victed of the crime of magic, and condemned to 
expiate his sins at the stake, at the approaching 
auto da fe. 

While the unhappy alchemist was undergoing 
his trial at the inquisition, his daughter was ex- 
posed to trials no less severe. Don Ambrosio, 
mto whose hands she had fallen, was, as ha^ be- 
Q)re been intimated, one of the most daring and 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 245 

lawless profligates in all Grenada. He was a 
man of hot blood and fiery passions, who stopped 
at nothing in the gratification of his desires ; yet 
with all this he possessed manners, address, and 
accomplishments, that had made him eminently 
successful among the sex. From the palace to 
the cottage he had extended his amorous enter- 
prises ; his serenades harassed the slumbers of 
half the husbands in Grenada ; no balcony was 
too high for his adventurous attempts ; nor any 
cottage too lowly for his perfidious seductions. 
Yet he was as fickle as he was ardent ; success 
had made him vain and capricious ; he had no 
sentiment to attach him to the victim of his arts ; 
and many a pale cheek and fading eye, languish- 
ing amidst the sparkling of jewels, and many a 
breaking heart, throbbing under the rustic bodice, 
bore testimony to his triumphs and his faithless- 
ness. 

He was sated, however, by easy conquests, and 
wearied of a life of continual and prompt grati- 
fication. There had been a degree of difficulty 
and enterprise in the pursuit of Inez, that he had 
never before experienced. It had aroused him 
from the monotony of mere sensual life, and stim- 
ulated him with the charm of adventure. He 
had become an epicure in pleasure ; and now that 
he had this coy beauty in his power, he was deter- 
mined to protract his enjoyment, by the gradual 
conquest of her scruples, and downfall of her vir- 
tue. He was vain of his person and address, 
which he thought no woman could long withstand ; 
»nd it was a kind of trial of skill to endeavor to 



246 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

gain by art and fascination what he was secure 
of obtaining at any time by violence. 

When Inez, therefore, was brought to his pres- 
ence by his emissaries, he affected not to notice 
her terror and surprise, but received her with for- 
mal and stately courtesy. He was too wary a 
fowler to flutter the bird when just entangled in 
the net. To her eager and wild inquiries about 
her father, he begged her not to be alarmed ; that 
he was safe, and had been there, but was en- 
gaged elsewhere in an affair of moment, from 
which he would soon return ; in the mean time he 
had left word that she should await his return in 
patience. After some stately expressions of gen- 
eral civility, Don Ambrosio made a ceremonious 
bow, and retired. 

The mind of Inez was full of trouble and per- 
plexity. The stately formality of Don Ambro- 
sio was so unexpected as to check the accusations 
and reproaches that were springing to her lips. 
Had he had evil designs, would he have treated 
her with such frigid ceremony when he had her 
in his power? But why, then, was she brought 
to his house ? Was not the mysterious disap- 
pearance of Antonio connected with this ? A 
thought suddenly darted into her mind. Anto- 
nio had again met with Don Ambrosio — they 
had fought — Antonio was wounded — perhaps 
dying ! — It was him to whom her father had 
gone. It was at his request that Don Ambro- 
sio had sent for them to soothe his dying moments ! 
These, and a thousand such horrible suggestions 
harassed her mind ; but she tried in vain to get 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 247 

information from the domestics ; they knew notli- 
ing but that her father had been there, had gone, 
and would soon return. 

Thus passed a night of tumultuous thought 
and vague yet cruel apprehensions. She knew 
not what to do, or what to believe ; whether she 
ought to fly, or to remain ; but if to fly, how 
was she to extricate herself? and where was she 
to seek her father ? As the day dawned with- 
out any intelligence of him, her alarm increased ; 
at length a message was brought from him, say- 
ing that circumstances prevented his return to 
her, but begging her to hasten to him without 
delay. 

With an eager and throbbing heart did she set 
forth with the men that were to conduct her. 
She little thought, however, that she was merely 
changing her prison-house. Don Ambrosio had 
feared lest she should be traced to his residence in 
Grenada ; or that he might be interrupted there 
before he could accomplish his plan of seduction. 
He had her now conveyed, therefore, to a man- 
sion which he possessed in one of the mountain sol- 
itudes in the neighborhood of Grenada ; a lonely, 
but beautiful retreat. In vain, on her arrival, 
did she look around for her father, or Antonio ; 
none but strange faces met her eye ; menials pro- 
foundly respectful, but who knew nor saw any- 
Uiing but what their master pleased. 

She had scarcely arrived before Don Ambrosio 
made his appearance, less stately in his manner, 
but still treating her with the utmost delicacy and 
ieferenc'3. Inez was too much agitated and 



248 BRACEBRIDGE BALL, 

alarmed to be baffled by his courtesy, and be« 
came vehement in her demand to be conducted to 
her father. 

Don Ambrosio now put on an appearance of 
the greatest embarrassment and emotion. After 
some delay, and much pretended confusion, he at 
length confessed that the seizure of her father 
was all a stratagem ; a mere false alarm to pro- 
cure him the present opportunity of having ac- 
cess to her, and endeavoring to mitigate that ob- 
duracy, and conquer that repugnance, which he 
declared had almost driven him to distraction. 

He assured her that her father was again at 
home in safety, and occupied in his usual pursuits ; 
having been fully satisfied that his daughter was 
in honorable hands, and would soon be restored to 
him. In vain she threw herself at his feet, and 
implored to be set at liberty ; he only replied by 
gentle entreaties, that she would pardon the 
seeming violence he had to use ; and that she 
would trust a little while to his honor. " You 
are here," said he, " absolute mistress of every- 
thing: nothing shall be said or done to offend 
you ; I will not even intrude upon your ear the 
unhappy passion that is devouring my heart. 
Should you require it, I will even absent myself 
from your presence ; but to part with you en- 
tirely at present, with your mind full of doubts 
and resentments, would be worse than death to 
me. No, beautiful Inez, you must first know me 
a little better, and know my conduct, that my pas- 
sion for you is as delicate and respectful as it li 
vehement." 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 249 

I'he assurance of her father's safety had re 
lieved Inez from one cause of torturing anxiety, 
only to render her fears more violent on her own 
account. Don Ambrosio, however, continued to 
treat her with artful deference, that insensibly 
lulled her apprehensions. It is true she found 
herself a captive, but no advantage appeared to be 
taken of her helplessness. She soothed herself 
with the idea that a little while would suffice to 
convince Don Ambrosio of the fallacy of his hopes, 
and that he would be induced to restore her to her 
home. Her transports of terror and affliction, there* 
fore, subsided, in a few days, into a passive, yet 
anxious melancholy, with which she awaited the 
hoped-for event. 

In the meanwhile all those artifices were em- 
ployed that are calculated to charm the senses, 
ensnare the feelings, and dissolve the heart into 
tenderness. Don Ambrosio was a master of the 
subtle arts of seduction. His very mansion 
breathed an enervating atmosphere of languor 
and deliojht. It was here, amidst twilight sa- 
loons and dreamy chambers, buried among groves 
of orange and myrtle, that he shut himself up at 
times from the prying world, and gave free scope 
to the gratification of his pleasures. 

The apartments were furnished in the most 
sumptuous and voluptuous manner ; the silken 
couches swelled to the touch, and sank in downy 
softness beneath the slightest pressure. The paint- 
ings and statues all told some classic tale of love, 
managed, however, with an insidious delicacy ; 
•vhich, while it banished the grossness that might 



250 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

disguhi, was the more calculated to excite the im- 
agination. There the blooming Adonis was seen, 
not breaking awaj to pursue the boisterous chase, 
but crowned with flowers, and languishing in the 
embraces of celestial beauty. There Acis wooed 
his Galatea in the shade, with the Sicilian sea 
spreading in halcyon serenity before them. There 
were depicted groups of fauns and dryads, fondly 
reclining in summer bowers, and listening to the 
liquid piping of the reed ; or the wanton satyrs 
surprising some wood-nymph during her noontide 
slumber. There, too, on the storied tapestry, 
might be seen the chaste Diana, stealing, in the 
mystery of moonlight, to kiss the sleeping En- 
dymion ; while Cupid and Psyche, entwined in 
immortal marble, breathed on each other's lips 
the early kiss of love. 

The ardent rays of the sun were excluded from 
these balmy halls ; soft and tender music from 
unseen musicians floated around, seeming to min- 
gle with the perfumes exhaled from a thousand 
flowers. At night, when the moon shed a fairy 
light over the scene, the tender serenade would 
rise from among the bowers of the garden, in which 
the fine voice of Don Ambrosio might often be 
distinguished ; or the amorous flute would be heard 
along the mountain, breathing in its pensive ca- 
dences the very soul of a lover's melancholy. 

Various entertainments were also devised to 
dispel her loneliness and to charm away the idea 
of confinement. Groups of Andalusian dancers 
performed, in the splendid saloons, the various 
picturesque dances of their country ; or repre- 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 251 

Bented little amorous ballets, which turned upon 
Bome pleasing scene of pastoral coquetry and 
courtship. Sometimes there were bands of sing- 
ers, who, to the romantic guitar, warbled forth 
ditties full of passion and tenderness. 

Thus all about her enticed to pleasure and \o» 
luptuousness ; but the heart of Inez turned with 
distaste from this idle mockery. The tears would 
rush into her eyes as her thoughts reverted from 
this scene of profligate splendor to the humble 
but virtuous home whence she had been be- 
trayed ; or if the witching power of music ever 
soothed her into a tender reverie, it was to dwell 
with fondness on the image of Antonio. But if 
Don Ambrosio, deceived by this transient calm, 
should attempt at such time to whisper his pas- 
sion, she would start as from a dream, and recoil 
from him with involuntary shuddering. 

She had passed one long day of more than or- 
dinary sadness, and in the evening a band of these 
hired performers were exerting all the animating 
powers of song and dance to amuse her. But 
while the lofty saloon resounded with their war- 
blings, and the light sound of feet upon its marble 
pavement kept time to the cadence of the song, 
poor Inez, with her face buried in the silken 
couch on which she reclined, was only rendered 
more wretched by the sound of gayety. 

At length her attention was caught by the 
voice of one of the singers, that brought with it 
Bome indefinite recollections. She raised her 
head, and cast an anxious look at the performers, 
who, as usual, were at the lower end of the sa 



252 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

loon. One of them advanced a little before the 
others. It was a female, dressed in a fanciful 
pastoral garb, suited to the character she was sus- 
taining ; but her countenance was not to be mis- 
taken. It was the same ballad-singer that had 
twice crossed her path, and given her mysterious 
intimations of the lurking mischief that surround- 
ed her. When the rest of the performances were 
concluded, she seized a tambourine, and tossing 
it aloft, danced alone to the melody of her own 
voice. In the course of her dancing she ap- 
proached to where Inez reclined : and as she 
struck the tambourine, contrived, dexterously, to 
throw a folded paper on the couch. Inez seized 
it with avidity, and concealed it in her bosom. 
The singing and dancing were at an end ; the 
motley crew retired ; and Inez, left alone, hast- 
ened with anxiety to unfold the paper thus mys- 
teriously conveyed. It was written in an agitated, 
and almost illegible, handwriting : '' Be on your 
guard ! you are surrounded by treachery. Trust 
not to the forbearance of Don Ambrosio ; you are 
marked out for his prey. An humble victim to 
his perfidy gives you this warning ; she is encom- 
passed by too many dangers to be more explicit. 
Your father is in the dungeons of the inquisition ! " 
The brain of Inez reeled as she read this 
dreadful scroll. She was less filled with alarm at 
her own danger, than horror at her father's situa- 
tion. The moment Don Ambrosio appeared, she 
rushed and threw herself at his feet, imploring 
him to save her father. Don Ambrosio started 
with astonishment ; but immediately regaining his 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 253 

Belf-possession, endeavored to soothe her by his 
blandishments, and by assurances that her father 
was in safety. She was not to be pacified ; her 
fears were too much aroused to be trifled with 
She declared her knowledge of her father's being 
a prisoner of the inquisition, and reiterated her 
frantic supplications that he would save him. 

Don Ambrosio paused for a moment in per- 
plexity, but was too adroit to be easily con- 
founded. " That your father is a prisoner," replied 
he, '' I have long known. I have concealed it from 
you, to save you from fruitless anxiety. You 
now know the real reason of the restraint I have 
put upon your liberty : I have been protecting 
instead of detaining you. Every exertion has 
been made in your father's favor ; but I regret 
to say, the proofs of the offences of which he 
stands charged have been too strong to be contro- 
verted. Still," added he, "I have it in my power 
to save him ; I have influence, I have means at 
my beck ; it may involve me, it is true, in diffi- 
culties, perhaps in disgrace ; but what would I not 
do in the hopes of being rewarded by your favor '^ 
Speak, beautiful Inez," said he, his eyes kindling 
with sudden eagerness ; " it is with you to say 
the word that seals your father's fate. One kind 
word — say but you will be mine, and you will 
behold me at your feet, your father at liberty and 
in affluence, and we shall all be happy ! " 

Inez drew back from him with scorn and dis- 
belief. " My father," exclaimed she, " is too in- 
nocent and blameless to be convicted of crime; 
this is some base, «ome cruel artifice ! " Don 



254 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

Ambrosio repeated .lis asseverations, and with 
them also his dishonorable proposals ; but his 
eagerness overshot its mark ; her indignation and 
her incredulity were alike awakened by his base 
suggestions ; and he retired from her presence 
checked and awed by the sudden pride and dig- 
nity of her demeanor. 

The unfortunate Inez now became a prey to 
the most harrowing anxieties. Don Ambrosio 
saw that the mask had fallen from his face, and 
that the nature of his machinations was revealed 
He had gone too far to retrace his steps, and aa 
sume the affectation of tenderness and respect ^ 
indeed, he was mortified and incensed at her in- 
sensibility to his attractions, and now only sought 
to subdue her through her fears. He daily repre- 
sented to her the dangers that threatened her 
father, and that it was in his power alone to avert 
them. Inez was still incredulous. She was too 
Ignorant of the nature of the inquisition to know 
that even innocence was not always a protection 
from its cruelties ; and she confided too surely in 
the virtue of her father to believe that any accu- 
sation could prevail against him. 

At length Don Ambrosio, to give an effectual 
blow to her confidence, brought her the procla 
mation of the approaching auto da fe^ in which 
the prisoners were enumerated. She glanced her 
eye over it, and beheld her father's name, con- 
demned to the stake for sorcery. 

For a moment she stood tiansfixed with hor 
ror. Don Ambrosio seized upon the transient 
calm. " Think now, beautiful Inez," said he, 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 255 

with a tone of affected tenderness, " his life i^ 
still in your hands ; one word from you, one kind 
word, and I can yet save him." 

" Monster ! wretch ! " cried she, coming to her- 
self, and recoiling from him with insuperable ab- 
horrence : '^ 't is you that are the cause of this — 
't is you that are his murderer ! " Then, wring- 
ing her hands, she broke forth into exclamations 
of the most frantic agony. 

The perfidious Ambrosio saw the torture of her 
soul, and anticipated from it a triumph. He 
saw that she was in no mood, during her present 
paroxysm, to listen to liis words ; but he trusted 
that the horrors of lonely rumination would break 
down her spirit, and subdue her to his will. In 
this, however, he was disappointed. Many were 
the vicissitudes of mind of the wretched Inez : one 
time she would embrace his knees with piercing 
supplications ; at another she would shrink with, 
nervous horror at his very approach ; but any 
intimation of his passion only excited the same 
emotion of loathinsf and detestation. 

At length the fatal day drew nigh. " To-mor- 
row," said Don Ambrosio, as he left her one even- 
ing, — " to-morrow is the auto da fe. To-morrow 
you will hear the sound of the bell that tolls your 
father to his death. You will almost see the 
smoke that rises from his funeral-pile. I leave 
you to yourself. It is yet in my power to save 
him. Think whether you can stand to-morrow's 
horrors without shrinking. Think whether you 
can endure the after-reflection, that you were the 
cause of his death, and that merely through a per- 
v^ersity in refusing proffered happiness." 



256 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

What a night was it to Inez ! Her heart, al 
readj harassed and almost broken by repeated 
and protracted anxieties ; her strength wasted 
and enfeebled. On every side horrors awaited 
her; her father's death, her own dishonor: there 
seemed no escape from misery or perdition. " Is 
there no relief from man — no pity in heaven ? '* 
exclaimed she. " What have we done that we 
should be thus wretched ? " 

As the dawn approached, the fever of her mind 
arose to agony ; a thousand times did she try the 
doors and windows of her apartment, in the des- 
perate hope of escaping. Alas ! with all the 
splendor of her prison, it was too faithfully secured 
for her weak hands to work deliverance. Like 
a poor bird, that beats its wings against its gilded 
cage, until it sinks panting in despair, so she 
threw herself on the floor in hopeless anguish. 
Her blood grew hot in her veins, her tongue was 
parched, her temples throbbed with violence, she 
gasped rather than breathed ; it seemed as if her 
brain was on fire. " Blessed Virgin ! " exclaimed 
she, clasping her hands, and turning up her 
strained eyes, " look down with pity, and support 
me in this dreadful hour ! " 

Just as the day began to dawn, she heard a 
key turn softly in the door of her apartment. 
She dreaded lest it should be Don Ambrosio: 
and the yqtj thought of him gave her a sicken- 
ing pang. It was a female, clad in a rustic 
dress, with her face concealed by her mantilla. 
She stepped silently into the room, looked cau- 
Viously round, and then, uncovering her face, re- 



TEE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 257 

vealed the well-known features of the b^^llad- 
eiiiger. Inez uttered an exclamation of surprise, 
almost of joy. The unknow^n started back, pressed 
her finger on her lips enjoming silence, and beck- 
oned her to follow. She hastily wrapped her- 
self in her veil, and obeyed. They passed with 
quick but noiseless steps through an antecham- 
ber, across a spacious hall, and along a corridor ; 
all was silent ; the household was yet locked in 
sleep. They came to the door, to which the un 
known applied a key. Inez's heart misgave her ; 
she knew not but some new treachery was men- 
acing her ; she laid her cold hand on the stran- 
ger's arm : " Whither are you leading me ? " said 
she. " To liberty," replied the other in a whis- 
per. 

" Do you know the passages about this man- 
sion ? " 

" But too well ! " replied the girl, with a mel- 
ancholy shake of the head. There was an ex- 
pression of sad veracity in her countenance that 
was not to be distrusted. The door opened on a 
small terrace ^vhich was overlooked by several 
windows of the mansion. 

" We must move across this quickly," said the 
girl, '^ or we may be observed." 

They glided over it as if scarce touching the 
ground. A flight of steps led dowii into the garden ; 
a wicket at the bottom was readily unbolted ; 
thty passed with breathless velocity along one of 
the alleys, still in sight of the mansion, in which, 
however, no person appeared to be stirring. At 
length they came to a low private door in the 
17 



258 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

wall, partly hidden by a fig-tree. It was secured 
by rusty bolts, that refused to yield to their fee- 
ble efforts. 

•^ Holy Virgin ! " exclaimed the stranger, — 
" wliat is to be done ? one moment more, and we 
may be discovered." 

She seized a stone that lay near by : a few 
blows, and the bolts flew back; the door grated 
liarshly as they opened it, and the next moment 
they found themselves in a narrow road. 

'* Now," said the stranger, " for Grenada as 
quickly as possible ! The nearer we approach 
it, the safer we shall be ; for the road will be 
more frequented." 

The imminent risk they ran of being pursued 
and taken gave supernatural strength to their 
limbs ; they flew rather than ran. The day had 
dawned ; the crimson streaks on the edge of the 
horizon gave tokens of the approachnig sunrise ; 
already the light clouds that floated in the west- 
ern sky were tinged with gold and purple, though 
the broad plain of the Vega, which now began to 
open upon their view, was covered with the dark 
haze of the morning. As yet they only passed a 
few straggling peasants on the road, who could 
have yielded them no assistance in case of their 
being overtaken. They continued to hurry for- 
ward, and had gained a considerable distance, 
when the strength of Inez, which had only been 
sustained by the fever of her mind, began to yield 
to fatigue : she slackened her pace, and faltered, 

'' Alas ! " said she, " my limbs fail me ! \ can 
go no farther ! " 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 259 

" Bear up, bear up," replied her companion 
cheeringly ; " a little farther, and we shall b^ 
safe: look! yonder is Grenada, just sliowing it- 
self in the valley below us. A little farther, and 
we shall come to the main road, and then we 
shall find plenty of passengers to protect us." 

Inez, encouraged, made fresh efforts to get for- 
ward, but her weary limbs were unequal to the 
eagerness of her mind ; her mouth and throat 
were parched by agony and terror : she gasped 
for breath, and leaned for support against a rock. 
" It is all in vain ! " exclaimed she ; " I feel as 
though I should faint." 

" Lean on me," said the other ; " let us get in- 
to the shelter of yon thicket, that will conceal us 
from view. I hear the sound of water, which 
will refresh you." 

AVith much difficulty they reached the thicket, 
which overhung a small mountain-stream, just 
where its sparkling waters leaped over the rock 
and fell into a natural basin. Here Inez ?^ank 
upon the ground exhausted. Pier companion 
brought water in the palms of her hands, and 
bathed her pallid temples. The cooling drops re- 
vived her ; she was enabled to get to the margin 
of the stream, and drink of its crystal current ; 
then, reclining her head on the bosom of her deliv- 
erer, she was first enabled to murmur forth her 
heartfelt gratitude. 

" Alas ! " said the other, " I deserve no thanks ; 
I deserve not the good opinion you express. In 
me you behold a victim of Don Ambrosio's arts. 
In early years he seduced me from the cottage 



260 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

of ray parents : look ! at the foot of yonder blue 
mountain in the distance lies my native village ; 
but it is no longer a home for me. He lured me 
thence when I was too young for reflection ; he 
educated me, taught me various accomplishments, 
made me sensible to love, to splendor, to refine- 
ment ; then, having grown weary of me, he neg- 
lected me, and cast me upon the world. Hap- 
pily, the accomplishments he taught me have kept 
me from utter want ; and the love with which 
he inspired me has kept me from farther degrada- 
tion. Yes ! I confess my weakness : all his per- 
fidy and wrongs cannot efface him from my heart. 
I have been brought up to love him ; I have no 
other idol : I know him to be base, yet I cannot 
help adoring him. I am content to mingle among 
the hirelinoj thronoj that administer to his amuse- 
ments, that I may still hover about him, and lin- 
ger in those halls where I once reigned mistress. 
What merit, then, have I in assisting your escape ? 
I scarce know whether I am acting from sympa- 
thy and a desire to rescue another victim from 
his power, or jealousy and an eagerness to re- 
move too powerful a rival ! " 

While she was yet speaking, the sun rose in 
all its splendor ; first lighting up the mountahi 
8ummits, then stealing down height by height, 
until its rays gilded the domes and towers of Gre- 
nada, which they could partially see from be- 
tween the trees, below ihem. Just then the 
heavy tones of a bell came sounding from a dis- 
tance, echoing, in sullen clang, along the mountain. 
Inez turned pale at the sound. She knew it to 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 261 

be the great bell of the cathedral, rung at sunrise 
on the day of the auto da fe, to give note of fu- 
neral preparation. Every stroke beat upon her 
heart, and inflicted an absolute, corporeal pang. 
She started up wildly. " Let us be gone ! " cried 
she ; " there is not a moment for delay ! " 

" Stop ! " exclaimed the other, "yonder are 
horsemen coming over the brow of that distant 
height ; if I mistake not, Don Ambrosio is at 
their head. — Alas ! 't is he ; we are lost. Hold ! " 
continued she ; " give me your scarf and veil ; 
wrap yourself in this mantilla. I will fly up yon 
footpath that leads to the heights. I (vill let the 
veil flutter as I ascend ; perhaps they may mis- 
take me for you, and they must dismount to fol- 
low me. Do you hasten forward : you will soon 
reach the main road. You have jewels on your 
fingers : bribe the first muleteer you meet to assist 
you on your way." 

All this was said with hurried and breathless 
rapidity. The exchange of garments was made 
in an instant. The girl darted up the mountain- 
path, her white veil fluttering among the dark 
Bhrubbery ; while Inez, inspired with new strength, 
or rather new terror, flew to the road, and trusted 
to Providence to guide her tottering steps to Gre- 
r.ada. 

All Grenada was in aoritation on the morninoj 
of this dismal day. The heavy bell of the cathe- 
dral continued to utter its clanging tones, that 
pervaded every part of the city, summoning all 
persons to the tremendous spectacle about to be 
exhibited. The streets through which the proce? 



262 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

rfioa was to pass were crowded with the populace. 
The windows, the roofs, every place that could 
admit a face or a foothold, was alive with specta- 
tors. In the great square a spacious scaffolding, 
like an amphitheatre, was erected, where the sen- 
tences of the prisoners were to be read, and the 
sermon of faith to be preached ; and close by 
were the stakes prepared, where the condemned 
were to be burnt to death. Seats were arranged 
for the great, the gay, the beautiful ; for such is 
the horrible curiosity of human nature, that this 
cruel sacrifice was attended with more eagerness 
than a theatre, or even a bull-feast. 

As the day advanced, the scaffolds and bal- 
conies were filled with expecting multitudes; the 
sun shone brightly upon fair faces and gallant 
dresses ; one would have thought it some scene 
of elegant festivity, instead of an exhibition of 
human agony and death. But what a different 
spectacle and ceremony was this from those which 
Grenada exhibited in the days of her Moorish 
splendor. " iler galas, her tournaments, her 
sports of the ring, her fetes of St. John, her music, 
her Zambras, and admirable tilts of canes ! Her 
serenades, her concerts, her songs in Generaliffe ! 
The costly liveries of the Abencerrages, their ex- 
quisite inventions, the skill and valor of the Ala- 
baces, the superb dresses of the Zegries, Mazas, 
and Gomeles ! " "* — All these were at an end. 
The days of chivalry were over. Instead of the 
prancing cavalcade, with neighing steea and live- 
ly trumpet ; with burnished lance, ana helm., audi 
* Rodd's Civil Wars of Grenada, 



TEE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 263 

Duckler ; with rich confusion of pUime, and scarf, 
and banner, where purple, and scarlet, and green, 
and orange, and every gay color, were mingled 
with cloth of gold and fair embroidery ; instead 
of this crept on the gloomy pageant of supersti- 
tion, in cowl and sackcloth ; with cross and colfin, 
and frightful symbols of human suffering. In 
place of the frank, hardy knight, open and brave, 
with his lady's favor in his casque, and amorous 
motto on his shield, looking, by gallant deeds, to 
win the smile of beauty, came the shaven, un- 
manly monk, with downcast eyes, and head and 
heart bleached in the cold cloister, secretly exult- 
ing in this bigot triumph. 

The sound of the bells gave notice that the 
dismal procession was advancin % It passed 
slowly through the principal streets of the city, 
bearing in advance the awful banner of the holy 
office. The prisoners walked singly, attended by 
confessors, and guarded by familiars of the in- 
quisition. They were clad in different garments 
according to the nature of their punishments ; — 
those who were to suffer death wore the hideous 
Samarra, painted with flames and demons. The 
procession was swelled by choirs of boys, differ- 
ent religious orders, and public dignitaries ; and, 
above all, by the fathers of the faith, moving 
" vvith slow pace, and profound gravity, truly tri- 
imiphing as becomes the principal generals of that 
^'j*eat victory."* 

As the sacred banner of the inquisition ad- 
vanced, the countless throng sunk on their knees 
* Gonsalvius p. 135. 



264 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. 

before it ; they bowed their faces to the very 
earth as it passed, and then slowly rose again, 
like a great undulating billow. A murmur of 
tongues prevailed as the prisoners approached, 
and eager eyes were strained, and fingers pointed, 
to distinguish the different orders of penitents, 
whose habits denoted the degree of punishment 
they were to undergo. But as those drew near 
whose frightful garb marked them as destined to 
the flames, the noise of the rabble subsided ; they 
seemed almost to hold in their breaths ; filled with 
that strange and dismal interest with which we 
contemplate a human being on the verge of suf- 
fering and death. 

It is an awful thing — a voiceless, noiseless 
multitude ! The hushed and gazing stillness of 
the surrounding thousands, heaped on walls, and 
gates, and roofs, and hanging, as it were, in clus- 
ters, heightened the effect of the pageant that 
moved drearily on. The low murmuring of the 
priests could now be heard in prayer and exlior- 
tation, with the faint responses of the prisoners, 
and now and then the voices of the choir at a dis- 
tance, chanting the litanies of the saints. 

The faces of the prisoners were ghastly and 
disconsolate. Even those who had been pardoned, 
and wore the Sanbenito, or penitential garment, 
bore traces of the horrors they had undergone. 
Some were feeble and totterin<^ from lon^: confine- 
ment ; some crippled and distorted by various 
tortures ; every countenance was a dismal page, 
on which might be read the secrets of their pris- 
on-house. But in the looks of those condemned 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 265 

lo death tliere was something fierce and eager. 
They seemed men harrowed up by the past, and 
desperate as to the future. They were antici- 
pating, with spirits fevered by despair, and fixed 
and clenched determination, the vehement struggle 
with agony and death they were shortly to under- 
go. Some cast now and then a wild and an- 
guished look about them upon the shining day ; 
the " sun -bright palaces," the gay, the beautiftd 
world, which they were soon to quit forever ; 
or a <rlance of sudden indio^nation at the thronor- 
ing thousands, happy in liberty and life, who 
seemed, in contemplating their frightful situation, 
to exult in their own comparative security. 

One among the condemned, however, was an 
exception to these remarks. It was an aged man, 
somewhat bowed down, with a serene, though de- 
jected countenance, and a beaming, melancholy 
eye. It was the alchemist. The populace looked 
upon him with a degree of compassion, which 
they were not prone to feel towards criminals 
condemned by the inquisition ; but when they 
were told that he was convicted of the crime of 
magic, they drew back with awe and abhorrence. 

The procession had reached the grand square. 
The first part had already mounted the scaffold- 
ing, and the condemned were approaching. The 
press of the populace became excessive, and was 
repelled, as it were, in billows by the guards. 
Just as the condemned were entering the square, 
a shrieking was heard among the crowd. A fe- 
male, pale, frantic, dishevelled, was seen struggling 
through the multitude. '' My father ! my father ! '' 



266 BRACEBRIDGE HALL 

was all the cry she uttered, but it thrilled through 
every heart. The crowd instinctively drew back, 
and made way for her as she advanced. 

The poor alchemist had made his peace with 
Heaven, and, by hard struggle, had closed his 
heart upon the world, when the voice of his child 
called him once more back to worldly thought 
and agony. He turned towards the well-knowii 
voice ; his knees smote together ; he endeavored 
to reach forth his pinioned arms, and felt himself 
clasped in the embraces of his child. The emo- 
tions of both were too agonizing for utterance. 
Convulsive sobs, and broken exclamations, and 
embraces more of anguish than tenderness, were 
all that passed between them. The procession 
was interrupted for a moment. The astonished 
monks and familiars were filled with involuntary 
respect at this agony of natural affection. Ejacu- 
lations of pity broke from the crowd, touched by 
the filial piety, the extraordinary and hopeless 
anguish of so young and beautiful a being. 

Every attempt to soothe her, and prevail on 
her to retire, was unheeded ; at length they en- 
deavored to separate her from her father by force. 
The movement roused her from her temporary 
abandonment. With a sudden paroxysm of fury, 
she snatched a sword from one of the familiars. 
Her late pale countenance was flushed with rage, 
and fire flashed from her once soft and languish- 
ing eyes. The guards shrunk back with awe. 
There was something in this filial frenzy, this 
feminine tenderness wrought up to desperation, 
thai' touched even their hardened hearts. They 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 267 

siideavored to pacify her, but in vain. Her eye 
wfis eager and quick as the she-wolf's guarding 
her young. With one arm she pressed her 
father to her bosom, with the other she menaced 
every one that approached. 

The patience of the guards was soon ex- 
hausted. They had held back in awe, but not ir 
fear. With all her desperation the weapon was 
soon wrested from her feeble hand, and she was 
borne shrieking and struggling among the crowd. 
The rabble murmured compassion ; but such was 
the dread inspired by the inquisition, that no one 
attempted to interfere. 

The procession again resumed its march. Inez 
was ineffectually struggling to release herself 
from the hands of the familiars that detained her, 
when suddenly she saw Don Ambrosio before her. 
" Wretched girl 1 '' exclaimed he with fury, " why 
have you fled from your friends ? Deliver her,'' 
said he to the familiars, " to my domestics ; she 
is under my protection." 

His creatures advanced to seize her. " Oh no ! 
oh no ! " cried she, with new terrors, and clinging 
to the familiars, " I have fled from no friends. 
He is not my protector ! He is the murderer of 
my father ! " 

The familiars were perplexed ; the crowd 
pressed on with eager curiosity. " Stand off ! '^ 
cried the fiery Ambrosio, dashing the throng 
from around him. Then turning to the familiars, 
with sudden moderation, " My friends," said he, 
'* deliver this poor girl to me. Her distress has 
hirned her brain ; she has escaped from her 



268 BRACEBRWGE HALL, 

friends and protectors this morning ; but a little 
quiet and kind treatment will restore her to tran- 
quillity." 

" I am not mad ! I am not mad ! " cried she, 
vehemently. " Oh, save me ! — save me from 
these men ! I have no protector on earth but 
my father, and him they are murdering ! " 

The famiUars shook their heads ; her wildness 
corroborated the assertions of Don Ambrosio, and 
hij3 apparent rank commanded respect and belief. 
They relinquished their charge to him, and he was 
consigning the struggling Inez to his creatures — 

"- Let go your hold, villain ! " cried a voice 
from among the crowd, and Antonio was seen 
eagerly tearing his way through the press of 
people. 

" Seize him ! seize him ! " cried Don Ambrosii. 
to the familiars ; " *t is an accomplice of the «»or- 
cerer's." 

" Liar ! " retorted Antonio, as he thrust the 
mob to the right and left, and forced himself to 
the spot. 

The sword of Don Ambrosio flashed in an in- 
stant from the scabbard ; the student was armed, 
and equally alert. There was a fierce clash of 
weapons; the crowd made way for them as they 
fought, and closed again, so as to hide them from 
the view of Inez. All was tumult and confusion 
for a moment ; when the»*e was a kind of shout 
from the spectators, and the mob again opening, 
she beheld, as she thought, Antonio weltering in 
his blood. 

This new shock was too great for her alreadv 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 269 

overstrained intellects. A giddiness seized upon 
her ; everything seemed to whirl before her 
eyes ; she gasped some incoherent words, and 
bunk senseless upon the ground. 

Days, Weeks, elapsed before Inez returned to 
consciousness. At length she opened her eyes, as 
if out of a troubled sleep. •She was lying upon 
a magnificent bed, in a chamber richly furnished 
with pier-glasses and massive tables inlaid with 
silver, of exquisite workmanship. The walls 
w^ere covered with tapestry ; the cornices richly 
gilded : through the door, which stood open, she 
perceived a superb saloon, with statues and crys- 
tal lustres, and a magnificent suit of apartments 
beyond. The casements of the room were open 
to admit the soft breath of summer, which stole 
in, laden with perfumes from a neighboring gar- 
den ; whence, also, the refreshing sound of foun- 
tains and the sweet notes of birds came in min- 
gled music to her ear. 

Female attendants were moving, with noiseless 
step, about the chamber ; but she feared to ad- 
dress them. She doubted whether this were not 
all delusion, or whether she was not still in the 
palace of Don Ambrosio, and that her escape, and 
all its circumstances, had not been but a feverish 
dream. She closed her eyes again, endeavoring 
to recall the past, and to separate the real from 
the imaginary. The last scenes of consciousness, 
however, rushed too forcibly, with all their hor- 
rors, to her mind to be doubted, and she turned 
shuddering from the recollection, to gaze once 
Jiore on the quiet and serene magnificence around 



270 BRACEBRWGE HALL, 

her. As she again opened her eyes, they rested 
on an object that at once dispelled every alarm. 
At the head of her bed sat a venerable form 
watching over her with a look of fond anxiety, — 
it was her father ! 

I will not attempt to describe the scene that 
ensued ; nor the moments of rapture which more 
than repaid all the sufferings her affectionate 
lieart had underojone. As soon as their feelinorg 
had become more calm, the alchemist stepped out 
of the room to introduce a stranger, to whom he 
was indebted for his life and liberty. He re- 
turned, leading in Antonio, no longer in his poor 
scholar's garb, but in the rich dress of a noble- 
man. 

The feelings of Inez were almost overpowered 
by these sudden reverses, and it was some time 
before she was sufficiently composed to compre- 
hend the explanation of this seeming romance. 

It appeared that the lover, who had sought her 
affections in the lowly guise of a student, was 
only son and heir of a powerful grandee of 
Valencia. He had been placed at the university 
of Salamanca ; but a lively curiosity, and an 
eagerness for adventure, had induced him to aban- 
don the university, without his father's consent, and 
to visit various parts of Spain. His rambling in- 
clination satisfied, he had remained incognito for 
ti tune at Grenada, until, by farther study and 
Belf-regulation, he could prepare himself to return 
home with credit, and atone for his transgressions 
ftgainst paternal authority. 

How hard he had studied does not remain on 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 271 

record. All that we know is his romantic adven- 
ture of the tower. It was at first a mere youth- 
ful caprice, excited by a glimpse of a beautiful 
face. In becoming a disciple of the alchemist, 
he probably thought of nothing more than pur- 
suing a light love-affair. Farther acquaintance, 
however, had completely fixed his affections ; and 
he had determined to conduct Inez and her fa- 
ther to Valencia, and trust to her merits to se- 
cure his father's consent to their union. 

In the mean time he had been traced to his con- 
cealment. His father had received intelligence 
of his being entangled in the snares of a myste- 
rious adventurer and his daughter, and likely to 
become the dupe of the fascinations of the latter. 
Trusty emissaries had been dispatched to seize 
upon him by main force, and convey him without 
delay to the paternal home. 

What eloquence he had used with his father to 
convince him of the innocence, the honor, and 
the high descent of the alchemist, and of the ex- 
alted worth of his daughter, does not appear. 
All that we know is, that the father, though a 
very passionate, was a very reasonable man, as 
appears by his consenting that his son should re- 
turn to Grenada, and conduct Inez, as his afli- 
anced bride, to Valencia. 

Away, then, Don Antonio hurried back, ful! 
of joyous anticipations. He still forbore to ihrow 
off his disguise, fondly picturing to himself what 
would be the surprise of Inez, when, having Avon 
her heart and hand as a poor wandering scholar, 
he should raise her and her father at once to opu 
lence and splendor. 



172 BRACEBRIDG^ HALL. 

On his arrival he had been shocked «it finding 
the tower deserted of its inhabitants. In vain he 
sought for intelligence concerning them ; a mys- 
tery hung over their disappearance which he 
could not penetrate, until he was thunderstruck, 
on accidentally reading a list of the prisoners at 
the impending auto dafe^ to find the name of his 
venerable master among the condemned. 

It was the very morning of the execution. The 
procession was already on its way to the grand 
square. Not a moment was to be lost. The 
grand inquisitor was a relation of Don Antonio, 
though they had never met. His first impulse 
was to make himself known ; to exert all his family 
influence, the weight of his name, and the power 
of his eloquence, in vindication of the alchemist. 
But tlie grand inquisitor was already proceeding, 
in all his pomp, to the place where the fatal cere- 
mony was to be performed. How was he to be 
approached? Antonio threw himself into the 
crowd, in a fever of anxiety, and was forcing 
his way to the scene of horror, where he arrived 
just in time to rescue Inez, as has been men- 
tioned. 

It was Don Ambrosio that fell in the contest. 
Being desperately wounded, and thinking his end 
approacliing, he had confessed, to an attending 
father of the inquisition, that he was the sole 
viause of the alchemist's condemnation, and that 
the evidence on which it was grounded was al 
together false. The testimony of Don Antoni 
eame in corroboration of this avowal ; and his 
relationship to the grand inquisitor had, in all 



rHE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 273 

probability, its proper weight. Thus was the 
poor alchemist snatched, in a manner, from the 
very flames ; and so great had been the sympathy 
awakened in his case, that for once a populace 
rejoiced at being disappointed of an execution. 

The residue of the story may readily be imag- 
ined by every one versed in this valuable kind of 
history. Don Antonio espoused the lovely Inez, 
and took her and her father with him to Valencia. 
As she had been a loving and dutiful daughter, so 
she proved a true and tender wife. It was not 
long before Don Antonio succeeded to his father's 
titles and estates, and he and his fair spouse were 
renowned for being the handsomest and happiest 
couple in all Valencia. 

As to Don Ambrosio, he partially recovered to 
the enjoyment of a broken constitution and a 
blasted name, and hid his remorse and disgraces 
in a convent ; while the poor victim of his arts, 
who had assisted Inez in her escape, unable to 
conquer the early passion that he had awakened 
in her bosom, though convinced of the baseness 
of the object, retired from the world, and became 
a humble sister in a nunnery. 

The worthy alchemist took up his abode with 
his children. A pavilion, in the garden of their 
palace, was assigned to him as a laboratory, where 
he resumed his researches, with renovated ardor, 
after the grand secret. He was now and then 
assisted by his son-in-law ; but the latter slack 
ened grievously in his zeal and diligence after 
marriage. Still he would listen with profound 
gi-avity and attention to the old man's rhapsodies, 
18 



274 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. 

Rnd his quotations from Paracelsus, Sandivogius, 
and Pietro D'Abano, which daily grew longer and 
longer. In this way the good alchemist lived on 
quietly and comfortably, to what is called a good 
old age, that is to say, an age that is good for 
nothing, and, Tin fortunately for mankind, was hur- 
ried out of life in his ninetieth year, just as he 
was on the point of discovering the philosopher's 
stone. 

Such was the story of the captain's friend, with 
which we whiled away the morning. The cap- 
tain was, every now and then, interrupted by 
questions and remarks, which I have not men- 
tioned, lest I should break the continuity of the 
tale. He was a little disturbed, also, once or 
twice, by the general, who fell asleep, and 
breathed rather hard, to the great horror and 
annoyance of Lady Lillycraft. In a long and 
tender love-scene, also, which was particularly to 
her ladyship's taste, the unlucky general, having 
his head a little sunk upon his breast, kept mak- 
ing a sound at regular intervals, very much like 
the word pish^ long drawn out. At length he 
made an odd, abrupt, guttural sound, that sud- 
denly awoke him ; he hemmed, looked about with 
a slight degree of consternation, and then began 
to play with her ladyship's work-bag, which, how- 
ever, she rather pettishly withdrew. The steady 
sound of the captain's voice was still too potent a 
soporific for the poor general ; he kept gleaming 
up and sinking in the socket, until the cessation 
of the tale again roused him, when he started 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA, 275 

awake, put his foot down upon Lady Lillycraft's 
cur, the sleepmg Beauty, which yelped, seized 
him by the leg, and in a moment the whole li- 
brary resounded with yelpings and exclamations. 
Never did a man more completely mar his for- 
tunes while he was asleep. Silence being at 
length restored, the company expressed their 
thanks to the captain, and gave various opinions 
of the story. The parson's mind, I found, had 
been continually running upon the leaden manu- 
scripts, mentioned in the beginning, as dug up at 
Grenada, and he put several eager -questions to 
the captain on the subject. The general could 
not well make out the drift of the story, but 
thought it a little confused. " I am glad, how- 
ever," said he, " that they burnt the old chap in 
the tower ; I have no doubt he was a notorious 
impostor.'* 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 

His certain life that never can deceive him, 
Is full of thousand sweets, and rich content : 

The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him 
With coolest shade, tilLnoontide's heat be spent. 

His life is neither tost in boisterous seas 

Or the vexatious world ; or lost in slothful ease. 

Pleased and full blest he lives when he his God can please. 

Phineas Fletcqeb. 



TAKE great pleasure in accompanying 

the Squire in his perambulations about 

!j his estate, in which he is often attended 




by a kind of cabinet council. His prime minis- 
t« r, the steward, is a very worthy and honest old 
man, who assumes a right of way ; that is to say, 
a right to have his own way, from having lived 
time out of mind on the place. He loves the es- 
tate even better than he does the Squire ; and 
thwarts the latter sadly in many of his projects 
of improveme::t, being a little prone to disapprove 
of every plan that does not originate with him- 
Belf. 

In the course of one of these perambulatioas, 
I have known the Squire to point out some im- 
portant alteration wliich he was contemplating, in 
the disposition or cultivation of the grounds ; this 
of course would be opposed by the steward, and 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 277 

a long argument would ensue over a stile, oi on 
a rising piece of ground, until the Squire, who 
had a high opinion of the other's ability and in- 
tegrity, would be fain to give up the point. This 
concession, I observed, would immediately mollify 
the old man, and, after walking over a field or 
two in silence, with his hands behind his back, 
chewing the cud of reflection, he would suddenly 
turn to the Squire, and observe, that "he had 
been turning the matter over in his mind, and, 
upon the whole, he believed he would take his 
honor's advice." ^ 

Christy, the huntsman, is another of the 
Squire's occasional attendants, to whom he con- 
tinually refers in all matters of local history, as 
to a chronicle of the estate, having, in a manner, 
been acquainted with many of the trees from the 
very time that they were acorns. Old Nimrod, 
as has been shown, is rather pragmatical in those 
points of knowledge on which he values himself ; 
but the Squire rarely contradicts him, and is, ip 
fact, one of the most indulgent potentates that 
was ever hen-pecked by his ministry. 

He often laughs about it himself, and evidentljf 
yields to these old men more from the bent of 
his own humor than from any want of propei 

* The reader who has perused a little work published by 
the author several years subsequently to Bracebridge Hall, 
Darratmg a visit to Abbotsford, will detect the origin of the 
above anecdote in the conferences betv/een Sir Walter Scott 
and his right-hand man, Tomm}' Purdie. Indeed, the author 
(s indebted for several of his traits of the Squire to observa- 
tions made on Sir Walter Scott during that visit; though he 
had to be cautious and sparing in drawing from that source. 



278 BKACEBRIDGE HALL. 

authority. He likes this honest independence of 
old age, and is well aware that these trusty fol- 
lowers love and honor him in their hearts. He 
is perfectly at ease about his own dignity and the 
respect of those around him ; nothing disgusts 
him sooner than any appearance of fawning or 
sycophancy. 

I really have seen no display of royal state 
that could compare with one of the Squire's prog- 
resses about his paternal fields and through his 
hereditary woodlands, with several of these faith- 
ful adherents about him, and followed by a body- 
guard of dogs. He encourages a frankness and 
manliness of deportment among his dependents, 
and is the personal friend of his tenants ; inquir- 
ing into their concerns, and assisting them in times 
of difficulty and hardship. This has rendered 
him one of the most popular, and of course one 
of the happiest of landlords. 

Indeed, I do not know a more enviable condi- 
tion of life than that of an English gentleman, 
of sound judgment and good feelings, who passes 
the greater part of his time on an hereditary es- 
tate in the country. From the excellence of the 
roads and the rapidity and exactness of public 
conveyances, he is enabled to command all the 
comforts and conveniences, all the intelligence 
and novelties of the capital, while he is removed 
from its hurry and distraction. He has ample 
means of occupation and amusement within his 
own domains ; he may diversify his time by rural 
occupations, by rural sports, by study, and by the 
delights of friendly society collected within bis 
own hospitable halls. 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN 279 

Or if his views and feelings are of a more ex- 
tensive and liberal nature, he has it greatly in his 
power to do good, and to have that good immedi- 
ately reflected back upon himself. He can render 
essential services to his country by assisting in 
the disinterested administration of the laws ; by 
watching over the opinions and principles of the 
lower orders around him ; by diffusing among 
them those lights important to their welfare ; by 
mingling frankly among them, gaining their con- 
fidence, becoming the immediate auditor of their 
complaints, informing himself of their wants, mak- 
ing himself a channel through which their griev 
ances may be quietly communicated to the proper 
sources of mitigation and relief; or by becoming, 
if need be, the intrepid and incorruptible guardian 
of their liberties — the enlightened champion of 
their rights. 

All this can be done without any sacrifice of 
personal dignity, without any degrading arts of 
popularity, without any truckling to vulgar preju- 
dices or concurrence in vulgar clamor; but by 
the steady influence of sincere and friendly coun- 
sel, of fair, upright and generous deportment. 
Whatever may be said of English mobs and 
English demagogues, I have never met with 
a people more open to reason, more considerate 
in their tempers, more tractable by argument in 
the roughest times, than the English. They are 
remarkably quick at discerning and appreciating 
whatever is manly and honorable. They are 
Dy nature and habit methodical and orderly ; and 
rhey feel the value of all that is regular and re* 



280 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

fipectable. They may occasionally be deceived 
by sophistry, and excited into turbulence by pub- 
lic distresses and the misrepresentations of de- 
signing men ; but open their eyes, and they will 
eventually rally round the landmarks of steady 
truth and deliberate good sense. They are fond 
of established customs and long-established names ; 
and that love of order and quiet w^hich character- 
izes the nation gives a vast influence to the de- 
scendants of the old families, whose forefathers 
have been lords of the soil from time immemo- 
rial. 

It is when the rich and well-educated and 
highly-privileged classes neglect their duties, when 
they neglect to study the interests, and conciliate 
the affections, and instruct the opinions and 
champion the rights of the people, that the latter 
become discontented and turbulent, and fall into 
the hands of demagogues : the demagogue al- 
ways steps in where the patriot is wanting. 
There is a common hio^h-handed cant amon«: the 
high-feeding, and, as they fancy themselves, high- 
minded men, about putting down the mob ; but 
all true physicians know that it is better to 
sweeten the blood than attack the tumor, to ap- 
ply the emollient rather than the cautery. It is 
absurd in a country like England, where there is 
so much freedom and such a jealousy of right, for 
any man to assume an aristocraticai tone, and 
talk superciliously of the common people. There 
is no rank that makes him independent of the 
opinions and affections of his fellow-men, there is 
QO rank nor distinction that severs him from liis 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 281 

fellow-subjects ; and if, by any gradual neglect or 
assumption on the one side, and discontent and 
jealousy on the other, the orders of society 
should really separate, let those who stand on the 
eminence beware that the chasm is not mining at 
their feet. The orders of society in all well-con- 
Btituted governments are mutually bound to- 
gether, and important to each other; there can 
be no such thing in a free government as a vac- 
uum ; and whenever one is likely to take place, 
by the drawing off of the rich and intelligent 
from the 'poor, the bad passions of society will 
rush in to fill up the space, and rend the whole 
asunder. 

Though born and brought up in a republic, and 
more and more confirmed in republican principles 
by every year s observation and experience, I am 
not insensible to the excellence that may exist in 
other forms of government ; nor to the fact that 
they may be more suitable to the situation and 
circumstances of the countries in which they ex- 
ist ; I have endeavored rather to look at them as 
they are, and to observe' how they are calculated 
to effect the end which they propose. Consider- 
ing, therefore, the mixed nature of the government 
of this country, and its representative form, I 
have looked with admiration at the manner in 
ivhich the wealth and influence and intelligence 
were spread over its whole surface, — not, as in 
some monarchies, drained from the country, and 
-collected in towns and cities. I have considered 
the great rural establishments of the nobility, and 
Ihe lesser (^establishments of the gentry, as so 



282 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

many reservoirs of wealth and intelligence dis- 
tributed about the kingdom, apart from the towns, 
to irrigate, freshen, and fertilize the surrounding 
country. I have looked upon them, too, as the 
august retreat of patriots and statesmen, where, 
iu the enjoyment of honorable independence and 
elegant leisure, they might train up their minds 
to appear in those legislative assemblies whose 
debates and decisions form the study and prece- 
dents of other nations, and involve the interests 
of the world. 

I have been both surprised and disappointed, 
therefore, at finding that on this subject I was 
often indulging in an Utopian dream, rather than 
a well-founded opinion. I have been concerned 
at finding that these fine estates were too often 
involved, and mortgaged, or placed in the hands 
of creditors, and the owners exiled from their pa- 
ternal lands. There is an extravagance, I am 
told, that runs parallel with wealth ; a lavish ex- 
penditure among the great ; a senseless competi- 
tion among the aspiring ; a heedless, joyous dissi- 
pation, among all the upper ranks, that often beg- 
gars even these splendid establishments, breaks 
down the pride and principles of their possessors, 
and makes too many of them mere place-hunters, 
or shifting absentees. It is thus that so many 
are thrown into the hands of government ; and a 
court which ought to be the most pure and hon- 
orable in Europe, is so often degraded by noble 
but importu'nate time-servers. It is thus, too, that 
80 many become exiles from their native land, 
crowding the hotels of foreign countries, and ex- 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 283 

pending upon thankless strangers the wealth so 
hardly drained from their laborious peasantry. I 
have looked upon these latter with a mixture of 
censure and concern. Knowing the almost big- 
oted fondness of an Englishman for his native 
home, I can conceive what must be their com- 
punction and regi^et, when, amidst the sun-burnt 
plains of France, they call to mind the green 
fields of England, the hereditary groves which 
they have abandoned, and the hospitable roof of 
their fathers, which they have left desolate, or to 
be inhabited by strangers. But retrenchment is 
no plea for abandonment of country. They have 
risen with the prosperity of the land ; let them 
abide its fluctuations, and conform to its fortunes. 
It is not for the rich to fly because the country is 
suffering : let them share, in their relative pro- 
portion, the common lot ; they owe it to the land 
that has elevated them to honor and affluence. 
When the poor have to diminish their scanty mor- 
sels of bread ; when they have to compound with 
the cravings of nature, and study with how little 
they can do, and not be starved ; it is not then 
for the rich to fly, and diminish still farther the 
resources of the poor, that they themselves may 
live in splendor in a cheaper country. Let them 
rather retire to their estates, and there practise 
retrenchment. Let them return to that noble 
simplicity, that practical good sense, that honest 
pride, which form the foundation of true English 
character, and from them they may again rear the 
edifice of fair and honorable prosperity. 

On the rural habits of the English nobility and 



284 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

gentry, on the manner in which they discharge 
their duties on their patrimonial possessions, de- 
pend greatly the virtue and welfare of the nation. 
So long as they pass the greater part of their time 
in the quiet and purity of the country ; surrounded 
by the monuments of their illustrious ancestors ; 
surrounded by everything that can inspire gener- 
ous pride, noble emulation, and amiable and mag- 
nanimous sentiment ; so long they are safe, and 
hi them the nation may repose its interest and it? 
honor. But the moment that they become the 
servile throngers of court avenues, and give them- 
selves up to the political intrigues and heartless 
dissipations of the metropolis, that moment they 
lose the real nobility of their natures, and be- 
come the mere leeches of the country. 

That the great majority of nobility and gentry 
in England are endowed with high notions of 
honor and independence, I thoroughly believe. 
They have evidenced it lately on very important 
questions, and have given an example of adhe- 
rence to principle, in preference to party and 
power, that must have astonished many of the 
venal and obsequious courts of Europe. Such 
are the glorious effects of freedom, when infused 
into a constitution. But it seems to me that they 
are apt to forget the positive nature of their 
duties, and to consider their eminent privileges 
only as so many means of self-indulgence. They 
should recollect that in a constitution like that 
of England the titled orders are intended to be 
as useful as they are ornamental, and it is their 
virtues alone that can render them both. Their 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN, 285 

duties are divided between the sovereign and the 
Bubjects ; surrounding and giving lustre and dig 
nity to the throne, and at the same time temper- 
ing and mitigating its rays, until tliey are trans* 
mitted in mild and genial radiance to the people. 
Born to leisure and opulence, they owe the exer- 
cise of their talents, and the expenditure of their 
wealth, to their native country. They may be 
compared to the clouds ; which, being drawn up 
by the sun, and elevated in the heavens, reflect 
and magnify his splendor, — while they repay the 
earth, whence they derive their sustenance, by 
returning their treasures to its bosom in fertiliz- 
ing: showers. 



A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS. 

" I '11 live a private, pensive, single life." 

The Coluer of Crotdow. 




WAS sitting in my room, a morning or 
two since, reading, when some one tapped 
at the door, and Master Simon entered. 
He had an unusually fresh appearance ; he wore 
a bright-green riding-coat, with a bunch of vio- 
lets in the button-hole, and had the air of an old 
bachelor trying to rejuvenate himself. He had 
not, however, his usual briskness and vivacity ; 
but loitered about the room with somewhat of ab- 
sence of manner, humming the old song, — " Go, 
lovely rose, tell her that wastes her time and me ; " 
and then, leaning against the window, and look- 
ing upon the landscape, he uttered a very audible 
sigh. As I had not been accustomed to see Mas- 
ter Simon in a pensive mood, I thought there 
might be some vexation preying on his mind, and 
endeavored to introduce a cheerful strain of con- 
versation ; but he was not in the vein to follow it 
up, and proposed a walk. 

It was a beautiful morning of that soft vernal 
temperature which seems to thaw all the frost 
out of one's blood, and set all natu:'e in a fermeni 



A BACHELORS CONFESSIONS. 287 

Tlie very fishes felt its influence : the cat tious 
trout ventured out of his dark hole to seek his 
mate ; the roach and the dace rose up to the sur- 
face of the brook to bask in the sunshine ; and 
the amorous frog piped from among the rushes. 
If ever an oyster can really fall in love, as lias 
been said or sung, it must be on such a morning. 

The weather certainly had its effect upon Mas- 
ter Simon, for he seemed obstinately bent upon 
the pensive mood. Instead of stepping briskly 
along, smacking his dog-whip, whistling quaint 
ditties, or telling sporting anecdotes, he leaned 
on my arm, and talked about the approaching 
nuptials, whence he made several digressions upon 
the character of womankind, touched a little up- 
on the tender passion, and made sundry very ex- 
cellent, though rather trite, observations upon 
disappointments in love. It Avas evident he had 
something on his mind which he wished to im- 
part, but felt awkward in approaching it. I was 
curious to see what this strain would lead to, but 
determined not to assist him. Indeed, I mis- 
chievously pretended to turn the conversation, 
and talked of his usual topics, dogs, horses, and 
hunting ; but he was very brief in his replies, and 
invariably got back, by hook or by crook, into 
the sentimental vein. 

At length we came to a clump of trees over- 
hanging a whispering brook, with a rustic bench 
at their feet. The trees were grievously scored 
with letters and devices, grown out of all shape 
and size by the growth of the bark ; and it ap- 
peared that this grove had served as a kind of 



288 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

register of the family loves from time immemorial. 
Here Master Simon made a pause, pulled up a 
tuft of flowers, threw them one by one into the 
water, and at length, turning somewhat abruptly 
upon me, asked me if I had ever been in love. 
I confess the question startled me a little, as I 
am not over-fond of making confessions of my 
amorous follies, and above all should never dream 
of choosing my friend Master Simon for a confi- 
dant. He did not wait, however, for a reply ; 
the inquiry was merely a prelude to a confession 
on his own part ; and after several circumlocutions 
and whimsical preambles, he fairly disburdened 
himself of a very tolerable story of his having 
been crossed in love. 

The reader will, very probably, suppose that 
it related to the gay v^idow who jilted him not 
long since at Doncaster races ; — no such thing. 
It was about a sentimental passion that he once 
had for a most beautiful young lady, w^ho wrote 
poetry and played on the harp. He used to ser- 
enade her ; and, indeed, he described several ten- 
der and gallant scenes, in which he was evidently 
picturing himself in his mind's eye as some ele- 
gant hero of romance, though, unfortunately for 
the tale, I only saw him as he stood before me, a 
dapper little old bachelor, with a face like an ap- 
ple that had dried with the bloom on it. 

What were the particulars of this tender tale 
I have already forgotten ; indeed, I listened to it 
with a heart like a very pebble-stone, havmg hard 
work to repress a smile while Master Simon was 
putting on the amorous swain, uttering every now 



A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS, 289 

and then a sigh, and endeavoring to look senti- 
mental and melancholy. 

All that I recollect is, that the lady, according 
to his account, was certainly a little touched ; for 
she used to accept all the music that he copied 
for her harp, and all the patterns that he drew 
for her dresses ; and he began to flatter himself, 
after a long course of delicate attentions, that he 
was gradually fanning up a gentle flame in her 
heart, when she suddenly accepted the hand of 
a rich, boisterous, fox-hunting baronet, without 
either music or sentiment, who carried her by 
storm, after a fortnight's courtship. 

Master Simon could not help concluding by 
some observation about " modest merit," and the 
power of gold over the sex. As a remembrance 
of his passion, he pointed out a heart carved on 
the bark of one of the trees, but which, in the 
process of time, had grown out into a large ex- 
crescence ; and he showed me a lock of her hair, 
which he wore in a true lover's knot, in a large 
gold brooch. 

I have seldom met with an old bachelor who 
had not, at some time or other, his nonsensical 
moment, when he would become tender and sen- 
timental, talk about the concerns of the heart, and 
have some confession of a delicate nature to malie 
Almost every man has some little trait of romance 
in his life, to wiiich he looks back with fondness, 
and about which he is apt to grow garrulous oc- 
casionally. He recollects himself as he was at 
the time, young and gamesome, and forgets that 
his hearers have no other idea of the hero of the 



290 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

tale but such as he may appear at the time of telL 
ing it; peradventure, a withered, whimsical, spin- 
dle-shanked old gentleman. With married men, it 
is true, this is not so frequently the casej their 
amorous romance is apt to decline after marriage ; 
why, I cannot for the life of me imagine ; but 
with a bachelor, though it may slumber, it never 
dies. It is always liable to break out again la 
transient flashes, and never so much as on a spring 
morning in the country, or on a winter evening 
when seated in his solitary chamber, stirring up 
the fire and talking of matrimony. 

The moment Master Simon had gone through 
his confession, and, to use the common phrase, 
" had made a clean breast of it," he became quite 
himself again. He had settled the point which 
had been worrying his mind, and doubtless con- 
sidered himself established as a man of sentiment 
in my opinion. Before we had finished our 
morning's stroll, he was singing as blithe as a 
grasshopper, whistling to his dogs, and telling 
droll stories ; and I recollect that he was particu- 
larly facetious that day at dinner on the subject 
of matrimony, and uttered several excellent jokes, 
not to be found in Joe Miller, that made the bride 
elect blush and look down, but set all the old 
gentlemen at the table in a roar, and abK^olutely 
brought tears into the general's eyes. 




ENGLISH GRAVITY. 

" Merrie England ! " 

Ancient Phbass. 

ilHERE is nothing so rare as for a man 
to ride his hobby without molestation. 
I find the Squire has not so undisturbed 
an indulgence in his humors as I had imagined ; 
but has been repeatedly thwarted of late, and has 
suffered a kind of well-meaning persecution from 
a Mr. Faddy, an old gentleman of some weight, 
at least of purse, who has recently moved into 
the neighborhood. He is a worthy and substan- 
tial manufacturer, who, having accumulated a 
large fortune by dint of steam-engines and spin- 
ning-jennies, has retired from business, and set up 
for a country gentleman. He has taken an old 
country seat, and refitted it ; and painted and 
plastered it until it looks not unlike his own man- 
ufactory. He has been particularly careful in 
mending the walls and hedges, and putting up no- 
tices of spring-guns and man-traps in every part 
of his premises. Indeed, he shows great jeal- 
ousy about his territorial rights, having stopped 
up a footpath which led across his fields ; and 
given warning, in staring letters, that whoevei 



292 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

was found trespassing on those grounds would 
be prosecuted with the utmost rigor of the law 
He has brought into the country with him all 
the practical maxims of the town, and the bus- 
tling habits of business ; and is one of those 
sensible, useful, prosing, troublesome, intolerable 
old gentlemen, who go about wearying and 
worrying society with excellent plans for public 
utility. 

He is very much disposed to be on intimate 
terms with the Squire, and calls on him every 
now and then, with some project for the good of 
the neighborhood, which happens to run dia- 
metrically opposite to some one or other of the 
Squire's peculiar notions, but which is " too sen- 
sible a measure " to be openly opposed. He has 
annoyed him excessively by enforcing the vagrant 
laws ; persecuting the gypsies, and endeavoring to 
suppress country wakes and holiday games ; which 
he considers great nuisances, and reprobates as 
causes of the deadly sin of idleness. 

There is evidently in all this a little of the 
ostentation of newly acquired consequence; the 
tradesman is gradually swelling into the aristo- 
crat ; and he begins to grow excessively intol- 
erant of everything that is not genteel. He has 
a great deal to say about " the common people " ; 
talks much of his park, his preserves, and the 
necessity of enforcing the game-laws more strictly ; 
and makes frequent use of the phrase, " the gen- 
try of the neighborhood." 

He came to the Hall lately, with a face full of 
business, that he and the Squire, to use his owd 



ENGLISH GRAVITY, 293 

words, " might lay tlieir heads together," to hit 
upon some mode of putting a stop to the frolick- 
ing at the village on the approaching May-day 
It drew, lie said, idle people together from all 
parts of the neighborhood, who spent the day M 
dling, dancing, and carousing, instead of staying at 
home to work for their families. 

Now, as the Squire, unluckily, is at the bottom 
of these May-day revels, it may be supposed that 
these suggestions of the sagacious Mr. Faddy 
were not received with the best grace in the 
world. It is true, the old gentleman is too cour- 
teous to show any temper to a guest in his own 
house ; but no sooner was he gone than the indig- 
nation of the Squire found vent, at having his 
poetical cobwebs invaded by this buzzing blue- 
bottle fly of traffic. In his warmth he inveighed 
against the whole race of manufacturers, who, I 
found, were sore disturbers of his comfort. " Sir," 
said he, with emotion, " it makes my heart bleed 
to see all our fine streams dammed up and be- 
strode by cotton-mills ; our valleys smoking with 
steam-engines, and the din of the hammer and the 
loom scaring away all our rural delights. What 's 
to become of merry old England, when its manor- 
houses are all turned into manufactories, and its 
sturdy peasantry into pin-makers and stocking- 
weavers ? I have looked in vain for merry Sher- 
wood, and all the greenwood haunts of Robin 
Hood ; the whole country is covered with manu- 
facturing towns. I have stood on the ruins of 
Dudley Castle, and looked round, with an aching 
beart, on what were once its feudal domains of 



294 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

verdant and beautiful country. Sir, I beheld a 
mere campus phlegrae ; a region of fire ; reeking 
with coal-pits, and furnaces, and smelting-houses, 
vomiting forth flames and smoke. The pale and 
ghastly people, toiling among vile exhalations, 
looked more like demons than human beings ; the 
clanking wheels and engines, seen through the 
murky atmosphere, looked like instruments of tor- 
ture in this pandemonium. What is to become 
of the country with these evils rankling in its 
v(Ty core ? Sir, these manufacturers will be the 
ruin of our rural manners ; they will destroy the 
national character ; they will not leave materials 
for a single line of poetry ! " 

The Squire is apt to wax eloquent on such 
themes ; and I could hardly help smiling at this 
whimsical lamentation over national industry and 
public improvement. I am told, however, that 
he really grieves at the growing of trade, as de- 
stroying the charm of hfe. He considers eVery 
new short- hand mode of doino: thino^s as an in- 
road of snug sordid method ; and thinks that 
this will soon become a mere matter-of-fact world, 
where life will be reduced to a mathematical cal- 
culation of conveniences, and everything will be 
done by steam. 

He maintains, also, that the nation has declined 
in its free and joyous spirit in proportion as it 
Las turned its attention to commerce and manu- 
factures ; and that in old times, when England 
was an idler, it was also a merrier little island. 
In support of this opinion, he adduces the fre- 
^uen<iy and splendor of ancient festivals and 



ENGLISH GRAVITY. 295 

meiTy-makings, and the hearty spirit with which 
they were kept up by all classes of people. His 
memory is stored with the accounts given by 
Stow, in his Survey of London, of the holiday 
revels at the inns of court, the Christmas mum- 
meries, and the masquings and bonfires about the 
streets. London, he says, in those days, resem- 
bled the continental cities in its picturesque man- 
ners and amusements. The court used to dance 
after dinner on public occasions. After the coro- 
nation-dinner of Richard IL, for example, the 
king, the prelates, the nobles, the knights, and the 
rest of the company danced in Westminster Hall 
to the music of the minstrels. The example of 
the court was followed by the middling classes, 
and so down to the lowest, and the whole nation 
was a dancing, jovial nation. He quotes a lively 
city picture of the times, given by Stow, which 
resembles the lively scenes one may often see in 
the gay city of Paris ; for he tells us that on 
holidays, after evening prayers, the maidens in 
London used to assemble before the door, in sight 
of their masters and dames, and while one played 
on a timbrel, the others danced for garlands, 
hanged athwart the street. 

" Where will we meet with such merry groups 
nowadays ? " the Squire will exclaim, shaking 
liis head mournfully ; — " and then a * to the 
gayety that prevailed in dress throughout all 
ranks of society; and made the very streets so 
fine and picturesque. * I have myself,' says Ger- 
7aise Markham, ' met an ordinary tapster in his 
silk stockings, garters deep fringed with gold lace, 



296 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

the rest of his apparel suitable, with cloak lined 
with velvet ! ' Nashe, too, who wrote in 1593, 
exclaims at the finery of the nation, ' England, 
the player's stage of gorgeous attire, the ape of 
all nations' superfluities, the continual masquer in 
outlandish habiliments.' " 

Such are a few of the authorities quoted by 
the Squire by way of contrasting what he sup- 
poses to have been the former vivacity of the 
nation with its present monotonous character. 
" John Bull," he will say, " was then a gay cava- 
lier, with a sword by his side and a feather in his 
cap ; but he is now a plodding citizen, in snuff- 
colored coat and gaiters." 

By the by, there really appears to have been 
some change in the national character since the 
days of which the Squire is so fond of talking ; 
those days when this little island acquired its 
favorite old title of " merry England." This 
may be attributed in part to the growing hard- 
ships of the times, and the necessity of turning 
the whole attention to the means of subsistence ; 
but England's gayest customs prevailed at times 
when her common people enjoyed comparatively 
few of the comforts and conveniences which they 
do at present. It may be still more attributed 
to the universal spirit of gain, and the calculating 
habits which commerce has introduced ; but I am 
inclined to attribute it chiefly to the gradual in- 
(jrease of the liberty of the subject, and the grow- 
ing freedom and activity of opinion. 

A free people are apt to be grave and thought - 
fuL They have high and important matters to 



ENGLISH GRA VITY. 297 

occupy their miads. Tliey feel it their right, 
their interest, and their duty U) mingle in public 
concerns, and to watch over the general wel- 
fare. The continual exercise of the mind on 
political topics gives intenser habits of think- 
ing, and a more serious and earnest demeanor, 
A nation becomes less gay, but more intellect- 
ually active and vigorous. It evinces less play 
of the fancy, but more power of the imagina- 
tion ; less taste and elegance, but more grandeur 
of mind ; less animated vivacity, but deeper en- 
thusiasm. 

It is when men are shut out of the regions of 
manly thought by a despotic government ; when 
every grave and lofty theme is rendered perilous 
to discussion and almost to reflection ; it is then 
that they turn to the safer occupations of taste 
and amusement ; trifles rise to importance, and 
occupy the craving activity of intellect. No 
being is more void of care and reflection than 
the slave ; none dances more gayly in his inter- 
vals of labor : but make him free, give him rights 
and interests to guard, and he becomes thought- 
ful and laborious. 

The French are a gayer people than the Eng- 
lish. Why ? Partly from temperament, per- 
haps ; but greatly because they have been accus- 
tomed to governments which surrounded the free 
exercise of thought with danger, and where he 
01 Jy was safe who shut his eyes and ears to pub- 
lic events, and enjoyed the passing pleasure of 
vhe day. Within late years they have had more 
opportunity of exercising their minds ; and with- 



298 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



in late years the national character has essentially 
changed. Never did the French enjoy such a 
degree of freedom as they do at this moment, 
and at tliis moment the French are comparatively 
a grave people. 





GYPSIES. 

"V\Tiat*s that to absolute freedom ; such as the very beggars hare; 
o feast and revel here to-day, and yonder to-morrow ; next day 
«rhere they please ; and so on still, the whole country or kingdom 
jver ? There 's liberty ! the birds of the air can take no more. — 
Jdvial Crew. 

|lNCE the meeting with the gypsies, 
which I have related in a former paper, 
I have observed several of them haunt- 
ing the purlieus of the Hall, notwithstanding a 
positive interdiction of the Squire. They are 
part of a gang which has long kept about this 
neighborhood to the great annoyance of the far- 
mers, whose poultry-yards often suffer from their 
nocturnal invasions. They are, however, in some 
measure, patronized by the Squire, who considers 
the race as belonging to the good old times ; which, 
to confess the private truth, seem to have abounded 
with good-for-nothing characters. 

This roving crew is called '' Star-light Tom's 
Gang," from the name of its chieftain, a notorious 
poacher. I have heard repeatedly of the mis- 
deeds of this " minion of the moon " ; for every 
midnight depredation in park, or fold, or farm- 
yard, is laid to his charge. Star-light Tom, in 
tact, answers to his name ; he seems to walk in 



300 BltACEBRIDGE HAL .. 

darkness, and, like a fox, to be traced in the 
morning by the mischief he has done. He re- 
minds me of that fearful personage in the nursery 
I hyme : 

" Who goes round the house at night ? 
None but bloody Tom ! 
Who steals all the sheep at night? 
None but one by one ! '* 

In short, Star-light Tom is the scape-goat of the 
neighborhood, but so cunning and adroit, that 
there is no detecting him. Old Christy and the 
gamekeeper have watched many a night in hopes 
of entrapping him ; and Christy often patrols the 
park with his dogs for the purpose, but all in vain. 
Jt is said that the Squire winks hard at his mis- 
deeds, having an indulgent feeling towards the 
vagabond, because of his being very expert at all 
kinds of game, a great shot with the cross-bow, 
and the best morris-dancer in the country. 

The Squire also suffers the gang to lurk un- 
molested about the skirts of his estate, on condi- 
tion they do not come about the house. The 
approaching wedding, however, has made a kind 
of Saturnalia at the Hall, and has caused a sus- 
pension of all sober rule. It has produced a 
great sensation throughout the female part of the 
household ; not a housemaid but dreams of wed- 
ding-favors, and has a husband running in her 
head. Such a time is a harvest for the gypsies : 
there is a public footpath leading across one part 
of the park, by which they have free ingress ; and 
they are continually hovering about the grounds, 
t(3lling the servant-girls' fortunes, or getting smug- 
gled in to the young ladies. 



GYPSIES. 301 

I believe the Oxonian amuses himself very 
much by furnishing them with hints in private, 
and bevvilderino^ all the weak brains in the house 
with their wonderful revelations. The general 
certainly was very much astonished by the com- 
munications made to him the other evening by 
the gypsy girl : he kept a wary silence towards 
us on the subject, and affected to treat it lightly ; 
but I have noticed that he has since redoubled his 
attentions to Lady Lillycraft and her dogs. 

I have seen also Phoebe Wilkins, the house- 
keeper's pretty and lovesick niece, holding a long 
conference with one of these old sibyls behind a 
large tree in the avenue, and often looking round to 
see that she was not observed. I make no doubt 
she was endeavoring to get some favorable augury 
about the result of her love-quarrel with young 
Ready-Money, as oracles have always been more 
consulted on love-affairs than upon anything else. 
I fear, however, that in this instance the response 
was not so favorable as usual, for I perceived poor 
Phoebe returning pensively towards the house 
her head hanging down, her hat in her hand, and 
the ribbon trailing along the ground. 

At another time, as I turned a corner of a ter- 
race, at the bottom of the garden, just by a clump 
of trees, and a large stone urn, I came upon a 
bevy of the young girls of the family, attended 
by this same Phoebe Wilkins. I was at a loss to 
comprehend the meaning of their blushing and 
giggling, and their apparent agitation, until I saw 
the red cloak of a gyp^y vanishing among the 
shrubbery. A few m )ments after I caught a sight 



D02 BRACEBRrDGE HALL, 

of Master Simon and the Oxonian stealing along 
one of the walks of the garden, chuckling and 
laughing at their successful waggery ; having evi- 
dently put the gypsy up to the thing, and in- 
structed her what to say. 

After all, there is something strangely pleasing 
in these tamperings with the future, even where 
we are convinced of the fallacy of the prediction. 
It is singular how willingly the mind will half 
deceive itself; and with a degree of awe we will 
listen even to these babblers about futurity. For 
my part, I cannot feel angry with these poor vaga- 
bonds, that seek to deceive us into bright hopes and 
expectations. I have always been something of a 
castle-builder, and have found my liveliest pleas- 
ures to arise from the illusions which fancy haa 
cast over commonplace realities. As I get on in 
life, I find it more difficult to deceive myself in 
this delightful manner ; and I should be thankful 
to any prophet, however false, who would conjure 
the clouds which hang over futurity into palaces, 
and all its doubtful regions into fairy-land. 

The Squire, who, as I have observed, has a 
private good- will towards gypsies, has suffered 
considerable annoyance on their account. Not 
that they requite his indulgence with ingratitude, 
for they do not depredate very fiagi^antly on his 
estate ; but because their pilferings and misdeeds 
occasion loud murmurs in the village. 1 can 
readily understand the old gentleman's humor on 
this point ; I have a great toleration for all kinds 
ol' vagrant, sunshiny existenc(i, and must confess 
I take a pleasure in observing the ways of gypsies. 



GYPSIES. 303 

Tlie English, who are accustomed to them from 
childliood, and often suffer from their petty depre- 
dations, consider them as mere nuisances ; but 
I have been very much struck with their peculi- 
arities. I like to behold their clear olive com 
plexions ; their romantic black eyes ; their raven 
locks ; their lithe slender figures ; and to hear 
them, in low silver tones, dealing forth magnifi- 
cent promises of honore and estates, of world's 
wealth, and ladies' love. 

Their mode of life, too, has something in it 
very fanciful and picturesque. They are the free 
denizens of nature, and maintain a primitive in- 
dependence, in spite of law and gospel, of county 
jails and country magistrates. It is curious to 
see this obstinate adherence to the wild unsettled 
habits of savage life transmitted from generation 
to generation, and preserved in the midst of one 
of the most cultivated, populous, and systematic 
countries in the world. They are totally distinct 
from the busy, thrifty people about them. They 
seem to be, like the Indians of America, either 
above or below the ordinary cares and anxieties 
of mankind. Heedless of power, of honors, of 
wealth, and indifferent to the fluctuations of times, 
the rise or fall of grain, or stock, or empires, 
they seem to laugh at the toihng, fretting world 
around them, and to live according to the philoso- 
phy of the old song : 

"Who would ambition shun, 
And loves to lie i' the sun, 
Seeking the food he eats, 
And pleased with what he gets, 



304 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

Come hither, come hither, come hither- 

Ilere shall he see 

No enemy, 
But winter and rough weather." 

In this way they wander from county to county 
keeping about the purlieus of villages, or in plen- 
teous neighborhoods, where there are fat farms 
and rich country-seats. Their encampments ai*e 
generally made in some beautiful spot : either a 
green shady nook of a road ; or on the border of 
a common, under a sheltering hedge ; or on the 
skirts of a fme spreading wood. They are always 
to be found lurking about fairs, and races, and 
rustic gatherings, wherever there is pleasure, and 
throng, and idleness. They are the oracles of 
milkmaids and simple serving-girls ; and some- 
times have even the honor of perusing the white 
hands of gentlemen's daughters, when rambling 
about their fathers' grounds. They are the bane 
of good housewives and thrifty farmers, and odi- 
ous in the eyes of country justices ; but, like all 
other vagabond beings, they have something to 
commend them to the fancy. They are among 
the last traces, in these matter-of-fact days, of the 
motley population of former times ; and are whim- 
sically associated in my mind with fairies and 
witches, Robin Good Fellow, Robin Hood, and 
the other fantastical personages of poetry. 



MAY-DAY CUSTOMS. 

Happy the age, and harmless were the dayes, 
(For then true love and amity was found,) 
When every village did a May- pole raise, 

And Whitson ales and May games did abound * 
And all the lusty yonkers la a rout, 
With merry lasses daunc'd the rod about. 
Then fri, ndship to their banquets bid the guests, 
And poore men far'd the better for their feasts. 

Pasquil's Palinodia. 




HE month of April has nearly passed 
away, and we are fast approaching that 
poetical day, which was considered, in 
old times, as the boundary that parted the front- 
iers of winter and summer. With all its caprices, 
however, I like the month of April. I like these 
laughing and crying days, when sun and shade 
seem to run in billows over the landscape. I 
like to see the sudden shower coursing over the 
meadow, and giving all nature a greener smile ; 
and the bright sunbeams chasing the flying cloud, 
and turning all its drops into diamonds. 

I was enjoying a morning of the kind in com- 
pany with the Squire in one of the finest parts 
of the park. We were skirting a beautiful grove, 
and he was giving me a kind of biographical ac- 
count of several of his favorite forest-trees, when 
he heard the strokes of an axe from the midst of 
20 



306 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

a tliick copse. The Squire paused and listened, 
with manifest sjgns of uneasiness. Pie turned 
his steps in the direction of the sound. The 
strokes grew louder and louder as we advanced ; 
there was evidently a vigorous arm wielding the 
axe. The Squire quickened his pace, but in 
vain ; a loud crack and a succeeding crash told 
that the mischief had been done, and some child 
of the forest laid low. When we came to the 
place, we found Master Simon and several others 
standing about a tall and beautifully straight 
young tree, which had just been felled. 

The Squire, though a man of most harmonious 
dispositions, was completely put out of tune by 
this circumstance. He felt like a monarch wit- 
nessing the murder of one of his liege subjects, 
and demanded, with some asperity, the meaning 
of the outrage. It turned out to be an affair of 
Master Simon's, who had selected the tree, from 
its height and straightness, for a May-pole, the old 
one which stood on the village green being unfit 
for farther service. If anything could have 
soothed the ire of my worthy host, it would have 
been the reflection that his tree had fallen in so 
good a cause ; and I saw that there was a great 
struggle between his fondness for his groves and 
his devotion to May-day. He could not contem- 
plate the prostrate tree, however, without indulg- 
ing in lamentation, and making a kind of funeral 
eulogy, like Marc Antony over the body of Caesar ; 
and he forbade that any tree should thenceforward 
be cut down on his estate without a warrant from 
himself; being determined, he said, to hold the 



MAY-DAY CUSTOMS. 307 

sovereign power of life and death m his own 
hands. 

This mention of the May-pole struck my at' 
tention, and I inquired whether the old customs 
connected with it were really kept up in this part 
of the country. The Squire shook his head 
mournfully ; and I found I had touched on one 
of his tender points, for he grew quite melancholy 
in bewailing the total decline of old May-day. 
Though it is regularly celebrated in the neigh- 
Doring village, yet it has been merely resuscitated 
by the worthy Squire, and is kept up in a forced 
state of existence at his expense. He meets with 
continual discouragements ; and finds great diffi- 
culty in getting the country bumpkins to play 
their parts tolerably. He manages to have every 
year a " Queen of the May " ; but as to Robin 
Hood, Friar Tuck, the Dragon, the Hobby Horse, 
and all the other motley crew that used to enliven 
the day with their mummery, he has not ventured 
to introduce them. 

Still I look forward with some interest to the 
promised shadow of old May-day, even though it 
be but a shadow ; and I feel more and more 
pleased with the whimsical yet harmless hobby of 
my host, which is surrounding him with agree- 
able associations, and making a little world of 
poetry about him. Brought up, as I have been, 
in a new country, I may appreciate too highly the 
famt vestiges of ancient customs which I now and 
then meet with, and the interest I express in them 
may provoke a smile from those who are negli- 
gently suffering them to pass away. But with 



308 BRACEBRIDGE IT ALL, 

whatever indifference they may be regarded by 
those " to the manner born," yet in my mind the 
lingering flavor of them imparts a charm to rus- 
tic life, which nothing else could readily supply. 

I shall never forget the delight I felt on first 
seeing a May-pole. It was on the banks of the 
Dee, close by the picturesque old bridge that 
stretches across the river, from the quaint little 
city of Chester. I had already been carried back 
into former days by the antiquities of that vener- 
able place ; the examination of which is equal to 
turning over the pages of a black-letter volume, 
or gazing on the pictures in Froissart. The May- 
pole on the margin of that poetic stream completed 
the illusion. My fancy adorned it with wreaths 
of flowers, and peopled the green bank with all 
the dancing revelry of May-day. The mere sight 
of this May-pole gave a glow to my feelings, and 
spread a charm over the country for the rest of 
the day ; and as I traversed a part of the fair 
plain of Cheshire, and the beautiful borders of 
Wales, and looked from among swelling hills, 
down a long green valley, through which " the 
Deva wound its wizard stream," my imagination 
turned all into a perfect Arcadia. 

Whether it be owing to such poetical associa- 
tions early instilled into my mind, or whethei 
there is a sympathetic revival and budding forth 
of the feelings at this season, certain it is, that 1 
always experience, wherever I may be placed, a 
delightful expansion of the heart at the return of 
May. It is said that birds about this time will 
bc(X)me restless in their cages, as if instinct with 



MAY-DAY CUSTOMS, e309 

the season, conscious of the revelry going on in 
the groves, and impatient to break from their bond- 
age and join in the jubilee of the year. In like 
manner I have felt myself excited, even in the 
midst of the metropolis, when the windows, which 
had been churlishly closed all winter, were again 
thrown open to receive the balmy breath of May ; 
when the sweets of the country were breathed 
uito the town, and flowers were cried about the 
streets. I have considered the treasures of flow- 
ers thus poured in, as so many missives from na- 
ture inviting us forth to enjoy the virgin beauty 
of the year, before it& freshness is exhaled by 
the heats of sunny summer. 

One can readily imagine what a gay scene it 
must have been in jolly old London, when the 
doors were decorated with flowering branches, 
when every hat was decked with hawthorn, and 
Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian, the mor- 
ris-dancers, and all the other fantastic masks and 
revellers, were performing their antics about the 
May-pole in every part of the city. 

I am not a bigoted admirer of old times and 
old customs merely because of their antiquity ; 
but while I rejoice in the decline of many of the 
rude usages and coarse amusements of former 
days, I regret that this innocent and fanciful fes- 
tival has fallen mto disuse. It seemed appropri- 
ate to this verdant and pastoral country, and 
.calculated to light up the too pervading gravity 
Df the nation. I value every custom which tends 
to infuse poetical feeling into the common people, 
and to sweeten and soften the rudeness of rustic 



310 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

manners, without destroying their simplicity. In* 
deed, it is to the decline of this happy simplicity 
that the decline of this custom may be traced 
and the rural dance on the green, and the homely 
May-day pageant, have gradually disappeared, in 
proportion as the peasantry have become expen- 
sive and artificial in their pleasures, and too know- 
ing for simple enjoyment. 

Some attempts, the Squire informs me, have 
been made of late years, by men of both taste 
and learning, to rally back the popular feeling to 
these standards of primitive simplicity ; but the 
time has gone by, the feeling has become chilled 
by habits of gain and traffic ; the country apes 
the manners and amusements of the town, and 
little is heard of May-day at present, except from 
the lamentations of authors, who sigh after it from 
among the brick walls of tho city : 

*' For 0, for 0, the Hobby Horse is forgot." 





VILLAGE WORTHIES. 

Nay, I tell you, I am so well beloved in our town, that not the 
^orst dog in the street will hurt my little finger. 

Collier of Gbotdon. 

S the neighboring village is one of those 
out-of-the-way, but gossiping little places 
where a small matter makes a great stir, 
it is not to be supposed that the approach of a 
festival like that of May-day can be regarded with 
indifference, especially since it is made a matter 
of such moment by the great folks at the Hall. 
Master Simon, who is the faithful factotum of the 
worthy Squire, and jumps with his humor in 
everything, is frequent just now in his visits to 
the village, to give directions for the impending 
fete ; and as I have taken the liberty occasionally 
of accompanying him, I have been enabled to get 
some insight into the characters and internal pol- 
itics of this very sagacious little community. 

Master Simon is in fact the Cassar of the 
village. It is true the Squire is the protecting 
power, but his factotum is the active and busy 
agent. He intermeddles in all its concerns ; is 
acquainted with all the inhabitants and their do- 
mestic history ; gives counsel to the old folks in 
their business matters, and the young folks iu 



312 BRACEBRIJGE HALL. 

their love-affairs ; and enjoys the proud satisfae 
tion of being a great man in a little world. 

He is the dispenser, too, of the Squire's char- 
ity, which is bounteous ; and, to do Master Simon 
justice, he performs this part of his functions with 
great alacrity. Indeed, I have been entertained 
with the mixture of bustle, importance, and kind- 
heartedness which he displays. He is of too vi- 
vacious a temperament to comfort the afflicted by 
sitting down moping and whining and blowing 
noses in concert ; but goes whisking about like a 
sparrow, chirping consolation into every hole and 
corner of the village. I have seen an old woman, 
in a red cloak, hold him for half an hour together 
with some long phthisical tale of distress, which 
Master Simon listened to with many a bob of the 
head, smack of his dog-whip, and other symptoms 
of impatience, though he afterwards made a most 
faithful and circumstantial report of the case to 
the Squire. I have watched him, too, during one 
of his pop visits into the cottage of a superannu- 
ated villager, who is a pensioner of the Squire, 
where he fid<jjeted about the room without sitting 
down, made many excellent off-hand reflections 
with the old invalid, who was propped up in his 
chair, about the shortness of life, the certainty of 
death, and the necessity of preparing for " that 
awful change '*' ; quoted several texts of Scripture 
very incorrectly, but much to the edification of 
the cottager's wife ; and on coming out, pinched 
the daughter's rosy cheek, and 'vondered what 
was in the young men that sucli a pretty face 
did not get a hasband. 



VILLAGE WORTHIES, 312 

He has also his cabinet eounsellois ia the 
village, with whom he is very busy just now 
preparing for the May-day ceremonies. Among 
these is the village tailor, a pale-faced fellow, who 
plays the clarinet in the church-choir ; and, being 
a great musical genius, has frequent meetings of 
the band at his house, where they " make night 
hideous " by their concerts. He is, in consequence, 
high in favor with Master Simon ; and, through 
his influence, has the making, or rather marring, 
of all the liveries of the Hall ; which generally 
look as though they had been cut out by one of 
those scientific tailors of the Flying Island of 
Laputa, who took measure of their customers 
with a quadrant. The tailor, in fact, might rise 
to be one of the moneyed men of the village, was 
he not rather too prone to gossip, and keep holi- 
days, and give concerts, and blow all his substance, 
real and personal, through his clarinet ; which lit- 
erally keeps him poor both in body and estate. 
He has for the present thrown by all his regular 
work, and suffered the breeches of the village to 
go unmade and unmended, while he is occupied in 
making garlands of party-colored rags, in imitation 
of flowers, for the decoration of the May-pole. 

Another of Master Simon's counsellors is the 
apothecary, a short and rather fat man, with a 
pair of prominent eyes, that diverge like those of 
a lobster. He is the village wise man ; very sen- 
tentious, and full of profound remarks on shal- 
low subjects. Master Simon often quotes his say- 
higs, and mentions him as rather an extraordi- 
aaiy man ; and even consults him occasionally in 



31 4 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. 

desperate cases of the dogs and horses. Indeed, 
he seems to have been overwhelmed by the apoth- 
ecary's philosophy, which is exactly one observa- 
tion deep, consisting of indisputable maxims such 
as may be gathered from the mottoes of tobacco- 
boxes. I had a specimen of his philosophy in my 
very first conversation with him ; in the course 
of which he observed, with great solemnity and 
emphasis, that " man is a compound of wisdom and 
folly " ; upon which Master Simon, who had hold 
of my arm, pressed very hard upon it, and whis- 
pered in my ear, " That 's a devilish shrewd re 
mark." 



THE SCHOOLMASTER. 

There will no mosse stick to the stone of Sisiphus, no grasse 
hang on the heeles of Mercury, no butter cleave on the bread of a 
traveller. For as the eagle at every flight loseth a feather, which 
maketh her bauld in her age, so the traveller in every country loseth 
some fleece, which maketh him a beggar in his youth, by buying 
that for a pound which he cannot sell again for a penny — repent- 
ance.— Lilly's EUPHUZS. 




MONG the worthies of the village, that 
enjoy the peculiar confidence of Master 
Simon, is one who has struck my fancy 
so much that I have thought him worthy of a 
separate notice. It is Slingsby, the schoolmaster, 
a thin elderly man, rather threadbare and slovenly, 
somewhat indolent in manner, and with an eas^, 
good-humored look, not often met with in his craft 
I have been interested in his favor by a few anec- 
dotes which I have picked up concerning him. 

He is a native of the village, and was a con- 
temporary and playmate of Ready-Money Jack in 
the days of their boyhood. Indeed, they carried 
on a kind of league of mutual good offices. 
Slingsby was rather puny, and withal somewhat 
of a coward, but very apt at his learning : Jack, 
on the contrary, was a bully-boy out of doors, 
but a sad laggard at his books. Slingsby helped 
Jack, therefore, to all his lessons ; Jack fought all 



316 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

Slingsby's battles ; and they were inseparable 
friends. This mutual kindness continued even 
after they left the school, notwithstanding the 
dissimilarity of their characters. Jack took to 
ploughing and reaping, and prepared himself to 
till his paternal acres ; while the other loitered 
negligently on in the path of learning, until he 
penetrated even into the confines of Latin and 
Mathematics. 

In an unlucky hour, however, he took to read- 
ing voyages and travels, and was smitten with a 
desire to see the world. This desire increased 
upon him as he grew up ; so, early one bright 
sunny morning, he put all his effects in a knap- 
sack, slung it on his back, took staff in hand, 
and called in his way to take leave of his early 
schoolmate. Jack was just going out with the 
plough : the friends shook hands over the farm- 
house-gate ; Jack drove his team a-field, and 
Slingsby whistled " Over the hills and far away," 
and sallied forth gayly to " seek his fortune." 

Years and years passed away, and young Tom 
Slingsby was forgotten ; when, one mellow Sun- 
day afternoon in autumn, a thin man, somewhat 
advanced in life, with a coat out at elbows, a pair 
of old nankeen gaiters, and a few things tied in i^ 
handkerchief, and slung on the end of a stick, 
was seen loitering through the village. He ap- 
peared to regard several houses attentively, to 
peer into the windows that were open, to eye the 
villagers wistfully as they returned from church, 
and then to pass some time in the church-yard, 
reading the tombstones. 



THE SCHOOLMASTER. 317 

A.t length he found his way to the farm-house 
of Readj-JMoney Jack, but paused ere he at- 
tempted the wicket ; contemplating the picture of 
substantial independence before him. In the 
porch of the house sat Ready-Money Jack, in his 
Simday dress ; with his hat upon his head, his 
pipe in his mouth, and his tankard before him, 
the monarch of all he surveyed. Beside him lay 
his fat house-dog. The varied sounds of poultry 
were heard from the well-stocked farm-yard; the 
bees hummed from their hives in the garden ; the 
cattle lowed in the rich meadow ; while the 
crammed barns and ample stacks bore proof of 
an abundant harvest. 

The stranger opened the gate and advanced 
dubiously toward the house. The mastiff growled 
at the sight of the suspicious-looking intruder, 
but was immediately silenced by his master, who, 
taking his pipe from his mouth, awaited with in- 
quiring aspect the address of this equivocal per- 
sonage. The stranger eyed old Jack for a mo- 
ment, so portly in his dimensions, and decked out 
in gorgeous apparel ; then cast a glance upon his 
own threadbare and starveling condition, and the 
scanty bundle which he held in his hand ; then 
giving his shrunk waistcoat a twitch to make it 
meet its receding waistband, and casting another 
^ook, half sad, half humorous, at the sturdy yeo- 
man, " I suppose," said he, " Mr. Tibbets, you 
have forgot old times and old playmates." 

The latter gazed at him with scrutinizing look, 
but acknowledged that he had no recollection of 
hinL 



318 BRACEBRWGE HALL 

" Tiike enough, like enough," said the stranger 5 
" everybody seems to have forgotten poor Sliiigs- 
by!" 

" Why no, sure ! it can't be Tom Slingsby ! " 

" Yes, but it is though ! " replied the stranger, 
shaking his head. 

Ready-Money Jack was on his feet in a t^vink- 
ling, thrust out his hand, gave his ancient crony 
the gripe of a giant, and slapping the other hand 
on a bench, " Sit down there," cried he, '* Tom 
Slingsby ! " 

A long conversation ensued about old times, 
while Slingsby was regaled with the best cheer 
that the farmhouse afforded ; for he was hungry 
as well as way-worn, and had the keen appetite 
of a poor pedestrian. The early playmates then 
talked over their subsequent lives and adventures. 
Jack had but little to relate, and was never good 
at a long story. A prosperous life, passed at 
home, has little incident for narrative ; it is only 
poor devils, that are tossed about the world, that 
are the true heroes of story. Jack had stuck by 
the paternal farm, followed the same plough that 
his forefathers had driven, and had waxed richer 
and richer as he grew older. As to Tom Slings- 
by, he was an exemplification of the old proverb, 
" a rolling stone gathers no moss." He had sought 
his fortune about the world, without ever find- 
ing it ; being a thing oftener found at home than 
abroad. He had been in all kinds of situations, 
and had learnt a dozen different modes of mak- 
ing a living ; but had found his way back to his 
native village rather poorer tl.an when he left it, 



TEE SCHOOLMASTER. 319 

his knapsack having dwindled down to a scanty 
bundle. 

As luck would have it, the Squire Tras passing 
by the farmhouse that very evening, and called 
there, as is often his custom. He found the two 
schoolmates still gossiping in the porch, and, ac- 
cording to the good old Scottish song, " taking a 
cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne." The 
Squire was struck by the contrast in appea^'ance 
and fortunes of these early playmates. Ready- 
Money Jack, seated in lordly state, surrounded 
by the good things of this life, with golden 
guineas hanging to his very watch-chain ; and the 
poor pilgrim Slingsby, thin as a weasel, with all 
his worldly effects, his bundle, hat, and walking- 
staff, lying on the ground beside him. 

The good Squire's heart warmed towards the 
luckless cosmopolite, for he is a little prone to 
like such half-vagrant characters. He cast about 
in his mind how he should contrive once more to 
anchor Slingsby in his native village. Honest 
Jack had already offered him a present shelter 
under his roof, in spite of the hints, and winks, 
and half remonstrances of the shrewd Dame Tib- 
bets ; but how to provide for his permanent main- 
tenance, was the question. Luckily, the Squire 
bethought himself that the village school was 
without a teacher. A little further conversation 
convinced him that Slingsby was as fit for that as 
for anything else, and in a day or two he was seen 
swaying the rod of empire in the very school- 
house where he had often been horsed in the days 
of his boyhood. 



320 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

Here he has remained for several years, and, 
being honored by the countenance of the Squire, 
and the fast friendship of Mr. Tibbets, he has 
grown into much importance and consideration 
in the village. I am told, however, that he still 
shows, now and then, a degree of restlessness, and 
a disposition to rove abroad again, and see a little 
more of the world, — an inclination which seems 
particularly to haunt him about spring - time. 
There is nothing so difficult to conquer as the 
vagrant humor, when once it has been fully in- 
dulged. 

Since I have heard these anecdotes of poor 
Slingsby, I have more than once mused upon the 
picture presented by him and his schoolmate 
Ready-Money Jack, on their coming together again 
after so long a separation. It is difficult to deter- 
mine between lots in life, where each is attended 
with its peculiar discontents. He who nev^er 
leaves his home, repines at his monotonous exist- 
ence, and envies the traveller, whose life is a con- 
stant tissue of wonder and adventure ; while he 
who is tossed about the world looks back with many 
a sigh to the safe and quiet shore which he has 
abandoned. I cannot help thinking, however, 
tliat the man who stays at home, and cultivates 
tlie comforts and pleasures daily springing up 
around him, stands the best chance for happiness. 
There is nothing so fascinating to a young mind 
as the idea of travelling ; and there is very witch- 
craft in the old phrase found in every nursery 
tale, of " going to seek one's fortune." A con- 
tinual change of place, and change of object, 



THE SCHOOLMASTER, 321 

promises a continual succession of adventure and 
gratification of curiosity. But there is a limit 
to all our enjoyments, and every desire bears its 
death in its very gratification. Curiosity lan- 
guishes under repeated stimulants ; novelties 
cease to excite surprise ; until at length we can- 
not wonder even at a miracle. 

He who has sallied forth into the world, like 
poor Slingsby, full of sunny anticipations, finds 
too soon how different the distant scene becomes 
when visited. Tlie smooth place roughens as ho 
approaches ; the wild place becomes 'tame and 
barren ; the fairy tints which beguiled him on, 
still fly to the distant hill, or gather upon the land 
he has left behind ; and every part of the land- 
scape seems greener than the spot he stmids on 

21 




THE SCHOOL. 

But to come down from great men and higher matters to my littla 
rhildren and poor schoolhouse again ; I will, God willing, go forward 
orderly, as I purposed, to instruct poor children and young men 
both for learning and manners. — Roger Ascham. 




Saving given the reader a slight sketch 
of the village schoolmaster, he may be 
curious to learn something concerning 
his school. As the Squire takes much interest 
in the education of the neighboring children, he 
put into the hands of the teacher, on first install- 
ing him in office, a copy of Eoger Ascham's 
Schoolmaster, and advised him, moreover, to con 
over that portion of old Peach em which treats 
of the duty of masters, and which condemns the 
favorite method of making boys wise by flagella- 
tion. 

He exhorted Slingsby not to break down or 
depress the free spirit of the boys, by harshnessf 
and slavish fear, but to lead them freely and joy- 
ously on in the path of knowledge, making it 
pleasant and desirable in their eyes. He wished 
to see the youth trained up in the manners and 
habitudes of the peasantry of tht good old times, 
and thus to lay a foundation for the accomplish- 
ment cf his favorite object, the revival of old 



THE SCHOOL. 325 

English customs and character. He recommended 
that all the ancient holidays should be observed, 
and the sports of the boys, in their hours of play, 
regulated according to the standard authorities 
laid down in Strutt ; a copy of whose invaluable 
work, decorated with plates, was deposited hi the 
school-house. Above all, he exhorted the peda- 
gogue to abstain from the use of birch : an instru- 
ment of instruction which the good Squire regards 
as fit only for the coercion of brute natures, that 
cannot be reasoned with. 

Mr. Slingsby has followed the Squire's instruc- 
tions to the best of his disposition and ability. 
He never flogs the boys, because he is too easy, 
good-humored a creature to inflict pain on a wornu 
He is bountiful in holidays, because he loves holi- 
days himself, and has a sympathy with the urchins' 
impatience of confinement, from having divers 
times experienced its irksomeness during the time 
that he was seeing the world. As to sports and 
pastimes, the boys are faithfully exercised in all 
that are on record : quoits, races, prison-bars, tip- 
cat, trap-ball, bandy-ball, wrestling, leaping, and 
what not. The only misfortune is, that, having 
banished the birch, honest Slingsby has not studied 
Roger Ascham sufficiently to find out a substitute, 
or, rather, he has not the management in his na- 
ture to apply one ; his school, therefore, though 
one of the happiest, is one of the most unruly 
in the country ; and never was a pedagogue 
more liked, or less heeded, by his disciples than 
Slingsby. 

He has lately taken a coadjutor worthy of him- 



324 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

5elf ; being another stray sheep returned to the 
villapje fold. This is no other than the son of the 
musical tailor, who had bestowed some cost upon 
his education, hoping one day to see him ar- 
rive at the dignity of an exciseman, or at least 
of a parish clerk. The lad grew up, however, as 
idle and musical as his father ; and, being capti- 
vated by the drum and fife of a recruiting party, 
followed them off to the army. He returned not 
long since, out of money, and out at elbows, 
the prodigal son of the village. He remained for 
some time lounging about the place in half-tat- 
tered soldier's dress, with a foraging cap on one 
side of his head, jerking stones across the brook, 
or loitering about the tavern-door, a burden to 
his father, and regarded with great coldness by all 
warm householders. 

Something, however, drew honest Slingsby 
towards the youth. It might be the kindness he 
bore to his father, who is one of the schoolmas- 
ter's great cronies ; it might be that secret sym- 
pathy which draws men of vagrant propensities 
toward each other ; for there is something truly 
magnetic in the vagabond feeling ; or it might be 
that he remembered the time when he himself 
had come back like this youngster, a wreck to his 
native place. At any rate, whatever the motive, 
Slingsby drew towards the youth. They had 
many conversations in the village tap-room about 
foreign parts, and the various scenes and places 
they had witnessed during their wayfaring about 
the world. The more Slingsby talked with him, 
the more he found him to his taste ; and finding 



THE SCHOOL, 32» 

hira almost as learned as himself, he forthwith en- 
gaged him as an assistant, or usher, in the school. 
Under such admirable tuition, the school, as 
may be supposed, flourishes apace ; and if the 
scholars do not become versed in all the holiday 
accomplishments of the good old times, to the 
Squire's heart's content, it will not be the fault of 
their teachers. The prodigal son has become al- 
most as popular among the boys as the pedagogue 
himself. His instructions are not limited to school- 
hours ; and having inherited the musical taste 
and talents of his father, he has bitten the whole 
school with the mania. He is a great hand at 
beating a drum, which is often heard rumbling 
from the rear of the school-house. He is teaching 
half the boys of the village, also, to play the M^, 
and the pandean pipes ; and they weary the whole 
neighborhood with their vague pipings, as they sit 
perched on stiles, or loitering about the barn-doors 
in the evenino^s. Amono; the other exercises of 
the school, also, he has introduced the ancient art 
of archery, one of the Squire's favorite themes, 
with such success, that the whipsters roam in tru- 
ant bands about the neighborhood, practising with 
their bows and arrows upon the birds of the air, 
and the beasts of the field ; and not unfrequently 
making a foray into the Squire's domains, to the 
great indignation of the gamekeepers. In a word, 
so completely are the ancient English customs 
and habits cultivated at this school, that I should 
^ot be surprised if the Squire should live to see 
one of his poetic visions realized, and a brood 
veared up, worthy successors to Robin Hood, and 
his merry gang of outlaws. 




A Vir.LAGE POLITICIAN. 

r am a rogue if I do not think I was designed for the helm of 
•tate ; I am so full of nimble stratagems, that I should have ordered 
affairs, and carried it against the stream of a faction, with as much 
ease as a skipper would laver against the wind. — The Gobuns. 

liN one of my visits to the village with 
Master Simon, he proposed that we 

U should stop at the inn, which he wished 
to show me, as a specimen of a real country inn, 
the headquarters of village gossip. I had re- 
marked it before, in my perambulations about the 
place. It has a deep old-fashioned porch, leading 
into a large hall, which serves for tap-room and 
travellers'-room ; having a wide fireplace, with 
high-backed settles on each side, where the wise 
men of the village gossip over their ale, and hold 
their sessions during? the lonor winter evenino^s. 
The landlord is an .easy, indolent fellow, shaped 
a little like one of his own beer-barrels, and is apt 
to stand gossiping at his own door, with his wig 
on one side, and his hands in his pockets, whilst 
his wife and daughter attend to customers. His 
wife, however, is fully competent to manage the 
establishment ; and, indeed, from long habitude, 
rules over all the frequenters of the tap-room as 
completely as if they were her dependents and 



A VILLAGE POLITICIAN, 827 

not her patrons. Not a veteran ale-bibber but 
pays homage to her, having, no doubt, often been 
in her arrears. I have already hinted that she is 
on very good terms with Ready-Money Jack. 
He was a sweetheart of hers in early life, and has 
always countenanced the tavern on her account. 
Indeed, he is quite a " cock of the walk " at the 
tap -room. 

As we approached the inn, we heard some one 
talking with great volubility, and distinguished 
the ominous words, " taxes," " poor's rates," and 
"agricultural distress." It proved to be a thin, 
loquacious fellow, who had penned the landlord 
up in one corner of the porch, with his hands in 
his pockets, listening with an air of the most va- 
cant acquiescence. 

The sight seemed to have a curious effect on 
Master Simon, as he squeezed my arm, and alter- 
ing his course, sheered wide of the porch, as 
though he had not had any idea of entering. 
This evident evasion induced me to notice the 
orator more particularly. He was meagre, but 
active in his make, with a long, pale, bilious face ; 
a black beard, so ill-shaven as to leave marks of 
blood on his shirt-collar; a feverish eye, and a 
hat sharpened up at the sides into a most prag- 
matical shape. He had a newspaper in his hand, 
and seemed to be commenting on its contents, to 
the thorough conviction of mine host. 

At sight of Master Simon the landlord was evi- 
dently a little flurried, and began to rub his hands, 
edge away from his corner, and make several pro- 
Cound publican bows ; while the orator took no 



828 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

other notice of my companion than to talk rather 
louder than before, and with as I thought, some- 
thing of an air of defiance. Master Simon, bow- 
ever, as I have before said, sheered off from the 
porch, and passed on, pressing my arm within his, 
and wliispering as we got by, in a tone of awe 
and horror, " That 's a radical ! he reads Cob- 
bett ! " 

1 endeavored to get a more particular acr,ount 
of him from my companion, but he seemed ( un- 
willing even to talk about him, answering only iu 
general terms, that he was " a cursed busy fellow, 
that had a confounded trick of talking, and was 
apt to bother one about the national debt, and such 
nonsense ; " from which I suspected that Master 
Simon had been rendered wary of him by some 
accidental encounter on the field of argurncAt ; 
for these radicals are continually roving about in 
quest of wordy warfare, and never so happy as 
when they can tilt a gentleman logician out of 
his saddle. 

On subsequent inquiry my suspicions have been 
confirmed. I find the radical has but recently 
found his way into the village, where he threatens 
to commit fearful devastations with his doctrines. 
lie has already made two or three complete con- 
verts, or new lights ; has shaken the faith of 
several others ; and has grievously puzzled the 
brains of many of the oldest villagers, who had 
ntiver thought about politics, nor scarce anything 
else, during their whole lives. 

He is lean and meagre from the constant rest- 
lessness of mind and body ; worrying about with 



A VILLAGE POLITICIAN. 3*2ft 

Dewspapers and pamphlets in his pockets, which 
he is ready to pull out on all occasions. He has 
shocked several of the stanchest villagers, bj 
talking lightly of the Squire and his family ; 
and hinting that it would be better the park 
should be cut up into small farms and kitchen- 
gardens, or feed good mutton instead of worthless 
deer. 

He is a great thorn in the sight of the Squire^ 
who is sadly afraid that he will introduce politics 
into the village, and turn it ^into an unhappy, 
thinking community. He is a still greater griev- 
ance to Master Simon, who has hitherto been 
able to sway the political opinions of the place, 
without much cost of learning or logic ; but has 
been much puzzled of late to weed out the doubts 
and heresies already sown by this champion of re- 
form. Indeed, the latter has taken complete com- 
mand at the tap-room of the tavern, not so much 
because he has convinced, ^s because he has out- 
talked all the old-established oracles. The apoth- 
ecary, with all his philosophy, was as naught 
before him. He has convinced and converted the 
landlord at least a dozen times ; who, however, 
is liable to be convinced and converted the other 
way by the next person with whom he talks. It 
is true the radical has a violent antagonist in the 
landlady, who is vehemently loyal, and thorough- 
ly devoted to the king. Master Simon, and the 
Squire. She now and then comes out upon the 
reformer with all the fierceness of a cat-o'-moun-. 
tain, and does not spare her own soft-headed hus» 
band for listening to what she terms such " low 



330 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

lived politics." What makes the good woman 
the more violent, is the perfect coolness with 
which the radical listens to her attacks, drawing 
his face up into a provoking, supercilious smile ; 
and when she has talked herself out of breath, 
quietly asking her for a taste of her home- 
brewed. 

The only person in any way a match for this 
redoubtable politician is Ready-Money Jack Tib- 
bets ; who maintains his stand in the tap-room, 
in defiance of the radical and all his works. Jack 
is one of the mo.^t loyal men in the country, with- 
out being able to reason about the matter. He 
has that admirable quality for a tough arguer, 
also, that he never knows when he is beat. He 
has half a dozen old maxims, which he advances 
on all occasions, and though his antagonist may 
overturn them ever so often, yet he always brings 
them anew to the field. He is like the robber in 
Ariosto, who, though his head might be cut off 
half a hundred times, yet whipped it on his shoul- 
ders again in a twinkling, and returned as sound 
a man as ever to the charge. 

Whatever does not square with Jack's simple 
and obvious creed, he sets down for "French 
politics " ; for, notwithstanding the peace, he can- 
not be persuaded that the French are up' still 
laying plots to ruin the nation, and to get hold of 
the Bank of England. The radical attempted to 
overwhelm him one day by a long passage from 
a newspaper ; but Jack neither reads nor believes 
in newspapers. In reply, he gave him one of the 
ttaiizas which he has by heart from his favorite, 



A VILLAGE POLITICIAN, 331 

and indeed only author, old Tusser, and which he 
calls his Golden Rules : 

" Leave princes' affairs undescanted on, 
And tend to such doings as stand thee upon ; 
Fear God, and offend not the king nor his laws, 
And keep thyself out of the magistrate's claws.*' 

'When Tibbets had pronounced this with great 
emphasis, he pulled out a well-filled leathern 
purse, took out a handful of gold and silver, paid 
his score at the bar with great punctuality, re- 
turned his money, piece by piece, into his purse, 
his purse into his pocket, which he buttoned up ; 
and then, giving his cudgel a stout thump upon 
the floor, and bidding the radical " good morning, 
sir ! " with the tone of a man who conceives he 
has completely done for his antagonist, he walked 
with lionlike gravity out of the house. Two or 
three of Jack's admirers who were present, and 
had been afraid to take the field themselves, 
looked upon this as a perfect triumph, and winked 
at each other when the radical's back was turned. 
"Ay, ay ! " said mine host, as soon as the radical 
was out of hearing, " let old Jack alone ; I % 
warrant he '11 give hini his own ! '* 





THE ROOKERY. 

But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime 
In still repeated circles ; screaming loud, 
The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl, 
That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. 

COWPEB 

|N a grove of tall oaks and beeches, thai 
crowns a terrace-walk, just on the skirts 
of the garden, is an ancient rookery; 
which is one of the most important provinces in 
the Squire's rural domains. The old gentleman 
sets great store by his rooks, and will not suffer 
one of them to be killed ; in consequence of which 
they have increased amazingly : the tree-tops are 
loaded with their nests ; they have encroached 
upon the great avenue, and even established in 
times long past a colony among the elms and 
pines of the church-yard, which, like other distant 
colonies, has already thrown off allegiance to the 
mother-country. 

The rooks are looked upon by the Squire as a 
very ancient and honorable line of gentry, highly 
aristocratical in their notions, fond of place, and 
attached to church and state ; as their building 
so loftily, keeping about churches and cathedrals, 
and in the venerable groves of old castles and 
manor-houses, sufficiently manifests. The good 



THE ROOKERY. 333 

opinion thus expressed by the Squire put me 
upon observing more narrowly these very re- 
spectabie birds ; for I confess, to my shame, I 
had been apt to confound them with their cousins- 
german the crows, to whom, at the first glance, 
they bear so great a family resemblance. Noth- 
ing, it seems, could be more unjust or injurious 
than such a mistake. The rooks and crows are, 
among the feathered tribes, what the Spaniards 
and Portuguese are among nations, — the least 
loving, in consequence of their neighborhood and 
similarity. The rooks are old-established house- 
keepers, high-minded gentlefolk, who have had 
their hereditary abodes time out of mind ; but as 
to the poor crows, they are a kind of vagabond, 
predatory, gypsy race, roving about the country 
without any settled home ; " then- hands are 
against everybody, and everybody's against them," 
and they are gibbeted in every cornfield. Master 
Simon assures me that a female rook, who should 
so far forget herself as to consort with a crow, 
would inevitably be disinherited, and indeed 
would be totally discarded by all her genteel ac- 
quaintance. 

The Squire is very watchful over the interests 
and concerns of his sable neighbors. As to Mas- 
ter Simon, he even pretends to know many of 
them by sight, and to have given names to them ; 
he points out several, which he says are old heads 
of families, and compares them to worthy old cit- 
izens, beforehand in the world, that wear cocked 
hats, and silver buckles in their shoes. Notwith- 
•tauding the protecting benevolence of the Squire, 



334 BRACEBRWGE HALL, 

and their being residents in his empire, they seem 
to acknowledge no allegiance, and to hold no in- 
tercourse or intimacy. Their airy tenements are 
built almost out of the reach of gunshot ; and 
notwithstanding their vicinity to the Hall, they 
maintain a most reserved and distrustful shynesa 
of mankind. 

There is one season of the year, however, 
which brings all birds in a manner to a level, and 
tames the pride of the loftiest high-flier, which is 
the season of building their nests. This takes 
place early in the spring, when the forest-trees 
first begin to show their buds, and the long, withy 
ends of the branches to turn green ; when the wild 
strawberry and other herbage of the sheltered 
woodlands put forth their tender and tinted leaves ; 
and the daisy and the primrose peep from under 
the hedges. At this time there is a general bustle 
among the feathered tribes ; an incessant flut- 
tering about, and a cheerful chirping ; indicative, 
like the germination of the vegetable world, of 
the reviving life and fecundity of the year. 

It is then that the rooks forget their usual 
stateliness, and their shy and lofty habits. Instead 
of keeping up in the high regions of the air, 
SAvinging on the breezy tree-tops, and looking 
down with sovereign contempt upon the humble 
crawlers upon earth, they are fain to throw off 
for a time tlie dignity of the gentleman, to come 
down to the ground, and put on the painstaking 
and industrious character of a laborer. They now 
lose their natural shyness, become fearless and 
familiar, and may be &een plying about in all di- 



THE ROOKERY, 335 

rections, with an air of great assiduity, in search 
of building-materials. Every now and then your 
path will be crossed by one of these busy old 
gentlemen, worrying about with awkward gait, as 
if troubled with the gout, or with corns on his 
toes ; casting about many a prying look ; turning 
down first one eye, then the other, in earnest con- 
sideration, upon every straw he meets with ; until, 
espying some mighty twig, large enough to make 
a rafter for his air-castle, he will seize upon it 
with avidity, and hurry away with it to tlie tree- 
top ; fearing, apparently, lest you should dispute 
with him the invaluable prize. 

Like other castle-builders, these airy architects 
seem rather fanciful in the materials with which 
they build, and to like those most which come 
from a distance. Thus, though there are abun- 
dance of dry twigs on the surrounding trees, yet 
they never think of making use of them, but go 
foraging in distant lands, and come sailing home 
one by one, from the ends of the earth, each bear- 
ing in his bill some precious piece of timber. 

Nor must I avoid mentioning, what, I grieve 
to say, rather derogates from the grave and hon- 
orable character of these ancient gentlefolk, that, 
during the architectural season, they are subject 
to great dissensions among themselves ; that they 
make no scruple to defraud and plunder each 
other ; and that sometimes the rookery is a scene 
of hideous brawl and commotion, in consequence 
of some delinquency of the kind. One of the 
partners generally remains on the nest to guard 
il from depredation ; and I have seen severe con« 



836 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

tests, when some sly neighbor has endeavored to 
filch away a tempting rafter that had captivated 
his eye. As I am not wilUng hastily to admit 
any suspicion derogatory to the general character 
of so worshipful a people, I am inclined to think 
these larcenies discountenanced by the higher 
classes, and even rigorously punished by those in 
authority ; for I have now and then seen a whole 
gang of rooks fall upon the nest of some indi- 
vidual, pull it all to pieces, carry off the spoils, and 
even buffet the luckless proprietor. I have con- 
cluded this to be a signal punishment inflicted upon 
him, by the officers of the police, for some pilfering 
misdemeanor ; or, perhaps, that it was a crew of 
bailiffs carrying an execution into his house. 

I have been amused with another of their 
movements during the building-season, Tiie stew- 
ard has suffered a considerable number of sheep 
to graze on a lawn near the house, somewhat to 
the annoyance of the Squire, who thinks this an 
innovation on the dignity of a park, which ought 
to be devoted to deer onl}. Be this as it may, 
there is a green knoll, not far from the drawing- 
"oom window, where the ewes and lambs are ac- 
customed to assemble towards evening, for the 
benefit of the setting sun. No sooner were they 
gathered here, at the time when these politic birds 
were building, than a stately old rook, who Mas- 
ter Simon assured me was the chief magistrate 
01 this community, would settle down upon the 
head of one of the ewes, who, seeming uncon- 
Boiou5 of this condescension, would desist from 
grazing, and stand fixed in motionless reverence 



TEE ROOKERY, 337 

of her august burden ; the rest of the rookery 
would then come wheeling down, in imitation of 
their leader, until every ewe had two or three of 
them cawing, and fluttering, and battling upon 
her back. Whether they requited the submission 
of the sheep by levying a contribution upon their 
fleece for the benefit of the rookery, I am not cer- 
tain ; though I presume they followed the usual 
custom of protecting powers. 

The latter part of May is the time of great 
tribulation among the rookeries, when the young 
^re j ust able to leave the nests, and balance them 
selves on the neighboring branches. Now comes 
-ni the season of " rook-shooting," — a terrible 
"laughter of the innocents. The Squire, of course, 
prohibits all invasion of the kind on liis territo- 
ries ; but I am told that a lamentable havoc takes 
place in the colony about the old church. Upon 
this devoted commonwealth the village charges 
" with all its chivalry." Every idle wight, lucky 
enough to possess an old gun or blunderbuss, to- 
gether with all the archery of Slingsby's school, 
takes the field on the occasion. In vain does the 
little parson interfere, or remonstrate, in angry 
tones, from his study-window that looks into the 
church-yard ; there is a continual popping from 
morning till night. Being no great marksmen, 
their shots are not often etfective ; but every now 
and then a great shout from the besieging army 
of bumpkins makes known the downfall of some 
unlucky squab rook, which comes to the ground 
with the emphasis of a squashed apple-dumpling. 

Nor is the rookery entirely free from other 
22 



338 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

troubles and disasters. In so aristocrat ical and 
lofty-minded a community, which boasts so much 
ancient blood and hereditary pride, it is natural 
to suppose that questions of etiquette will some- 
times arise, and affairs of honor ensue. In fact, 
this is very often the case ; bitter quarrels breals 
out between individuals, which produce sad scuf- 
flings on the tree-tops, and I have more than onco 
seen a regular duel between two doughty heroes 
of the rookery. Their field of battle is generally 
the air ; and their contest is managed in the most 
scientific and elegant manner; wheeling round 
and round each other, and towerin^? hioher and 
higher, to get the vantage-ground, until they some- 
times disappear in the clouds before the combat 
is determined. 

They have also fierce combats now atid then 
with an invading hawk, and will drive him off 
from their territories by a posse comitatus. They 
are also extremely tenacious of their domains, and 
will suffer no other bird to inhabit the grove or 
its vicinity. A very ancient and respectable old- 
bachelor owl had for a long time his lodgings in 
a corner of the grove, but has been fairly ejected 
by the rooks ; and has retired, disgusted with the 
world, to a neighboring wood, where he leads the 
life of a hermit, and makes nightly complaints of 
his ill treatment. 

The hootings of this unhappy gentleman may 
generally be heard in the still evenings, when the 
rooks are all at rest ; and I have often listened to 
them, of a moonlight night, with a kind cf mysteri- 
ous gratification. This gray-bearded misanthroj^a 



THE ROOKERY. 



3f course, is higlilj respected by the Squire ; but 
the servants have superstitious notions about him ; 
and it would be difficult to get the dairy-maid to 
venture after dark near to the wood which he 
inhabits. 

Besides the private quarrels of the rooks, there 
arc other misfortunes to which they are liable, and 
which often bring distress into the most respect- 
able families of the rookery. Having the true 
baronial spirit of the good old feudal times, they 
are apt now and then to issue forth from their 
castles on a foray, and lay the plebeian fifjlds of 
the neighboring country under contribution ; in 
the course of which chivalrous expeditions they 
now and then get a shot from the rusty artillery 
of some refractory farmer. Occasionally, too, 
while they are quietly taking the air beyond the 
park boundaries, they have the incaution to come 
within reach of the truant bowmen of Slingsby's 
school, and receive a flight shot from some un- 
lucky urchin's arrow. In such case the wounded 
adventurer will sometimes have just strength 
enough to bring himself home, and, giving up the 
ghost at the rookery, will hang dangling " all 
abroad " on a bough, like a thief on a gibbet : an 
awful w^arning to his friends, and an object of 
great commiseration to the Squire. 

But, maugre all these untoward incidents, the 
rooks have, upon the whole, a happy holiday life 
of it. When their young are reared, and fairly 
launched upon their native element, the air, the 
^ares of the old folks seem over, and they resume 
ill their aristocratical dignity and idleness. I 



840 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

have envied tliem the enjoyment which they ap- 
pear to ha\'e in their ethereal heights, sporting 
with ckmorous cxuhation about their lofty bow- 
ers ; sometimes hovering over them, sometimes 
partially alighting upon the topmost branches, and 
there balancing with outstretclied wings, and 
swinging in the breeze. Sometimes they seem to 
.take a fashionable drive to the church, and amuse 
themselves by circling in airy rings about its spu*e ; 
at other times a mere garrison is left at home 
to mount guard in their stronghold at the grove, 
while the rest roam abroad to enjoy the fine 
weather. About sunset the garrison gives notice 
of their return ; their faint cawing will be heard 
from a great distance, and they will be seen far 
off like a sable cloud, and then, nearer and nearer, 
until they all come soaring home. Then they 
perform several grand circuits in the air, over the 
Hall and garden, wheeling closer and closer, until 
ihey gradually settle down ; when a prodigious 
cawing takes place, as though they were relating 
their day's adventures. 

I like at such times to walk about these dusky 
groves, and hear the various sounds of these airy 
people roosted so high above me. As the gloom 
increases, their conversation subsides, and they 
gradually drop asleep ; but every now and then 
there is a querulous note, as if some one was 
quarrelling for a pillow, or a little more of the 
blanket. It is late in the evening before they 
completely sink to repose, and then their old anch- 
orite neighbor, the owl, begins his lonely hi^otings 
from his bachelor's-hall, in the wood. 




MAY-DAY. 

It is the choice time of the year, 
For the violets now appear ; 
Now the rose receives its birth, 
And pretty primrose decks the earth. 

Then to the May -pole come away, 

For it is now a holiday. 

ACTEON AND DiANA. 

I S I was lying in bed this morning, enjoy- 
ing one of those half dreams, half rev- 
eries, which are so pleasant in the coun- 
try, when the birds are singing about the window, 
and the sunbeams peeping through the curtains, I 
was roused by the sound of music. On going 
down-stairs, I found a number of villagers, dressed 
in their holiday clothes, bearing a pole ornamented 
with garlands and ribbons, and accompanied by 
the village band of music, under the direction of 
the tailor, the pale fellow who plays on the clari- 
net. They had all sprigs of hawthorn, orj as it 
is called, " the May," in their hats, and had br: ught 
green branches and flowers to decorate the Hall 
doors and windows. They had come to give no- 
tice that the May-pole was reared on tlie green, 
and to invite the household to witness the sports. 
The Hall, according to custom, became a scene 
df hurry and delighted confusion. The servants* 



342 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

were all agog with May and music ; and there 
was no keeping either the tongues or the feet of 
the maids quiet, who were anticipating the sports 
of the green, and the evening dance. 

I repaired to the village at an early hour to 
enjoy the merry-making. The morning was pure 
and sunny, such as a May morning is always de- 
scribed. The fields were white with daisies, the 
hawthorn was covered with its fragrant blossoms, 
the bee hummed about every bank, and the swal- 
low played high in the air about the village stee- 
ple. It was one of those genial days when we 
seem to draw in pleasure with the very air we 
breathe, and to feel happy we know not why. 
Whoever has felt the worth of worthy man, or has 
doted on lovely woman, will, on such a day, call 
them tenderly to mind, and feel his heart all alive 
with long-buried recollections. " For thenne," 
says the excellent romance of King Arthur, 
"lovers call ageyne to their mynde old gentilnes 
and old servyse, and many kind dedes, that were 
forgotten by neglygence." 

Before reaching the village, I saw the May- 
pole towering above the cottages, with its gay 
garlands and streamers, and heard the sound of 
music. Booths had been set up near it, for the 
reception of company ; and a bower of green 
branches and flowers for the Queen of May, a 
fresh, rosy-cheeked girl of the village. 

A band of morris-dancers were capering on 
the green in their fantastic dresses, jingling with 
hawks' bells, with a boy dressed up as Maid JMar 
rian, and the attendant fool rattlhig his box to 



MAT-DAY. 343 

colle;t contributions from the bj-standers. The 
gypsy- women too were ah-eady plying their mys- 
tery in by-corners of the vilhige, reading the hand? 
of the simple country-girls, and no doubt promis- 
ing tiiem all good husbands and tribes of children, 

The Squire made his appearance in the course 
of the morning, attended by the parson, and was 
received with loud acclamations. He mingled 
among the country people throughout the day, 
giving and receiving pleasure wherever he went. 
The amusements of the day were under the man- 
agement of Slingsby, the schoolmaster, who is not 
merely lord of misrule in his school, but master of 
the revels to the village. He was bustling about 
with the perplexed and anxious air of a man who 
has the oppressive burden of promoting other peo- 
ple's merriment upon his mind. He had involved 
himself in a dozen scrapes in consequence of a 
politic intrigue, which, by the by. Master Simon 
and the Oxonian were at the bottom of, which had 
for its object the election of the Queen of May. 
He had met with violent opposition from a faction 
of ale-drinkers, who were in favor of a bouncing 
bar-maid, the daughter of the innkeeper ; but he 
had been too strongly backed not to carry his 
point, though it shows that these rural crowns, 
like all others, are objects of great ambition and 
heart-burning. I am told that Master Simon 
lakes great interest, though in an underhand way, 
in the election of these May-day Queens ; and 
that the chaplet is generally secured for some rus- 
tic beauty who has found favor in his eyes. 

Li tl.e course of the day there were various 



344 BRACEBRWGE EAS.L. 

games of strength and agilitj on the green, at 
which a knot of village veterans presided, as 
judges of the lists. Among these Ready-Money 
Jack took the lead, looking with a learned and crit- 
ical eye on the merits of the different candidates ; 
and though he was very laconic, and sometimes 
merely expressed himself by a nod, it was evident 
his opinions far outweighed those of the most lo- 
quacious. 

Young Jack Tibbets was the hero of the day, 
and carried off most of the prizes, though in some 
of the feats of agility he was rivalled by the 
" prodigal son," who appeared much in his ele- 
ment on this occasion ; but his most formidable 
competitor was the notorious gypsy, the redoubt- 
able " Star-light Tom." I was rejoiced at having 
an opportunity of seeing this " minion of the moon " 
in broad daylight. I found him a tall, swarthy, 
good-looking fellow, with a lofty air, something 
like what I have seen in an Indian chieftain ; and 
with a certain lounging, easy, and almost graceful 
carriage, which I have often remarked in beings 
of the lazaroni order, who lead an idle, loitering 
life, and have a gentlemanlike contempt of labor. 

Master Simon and the old general reconnoi- 
tred the ijround too-ether, and indulo:ed a vast deal 
of harmless raking among the buxom country 
girls. Master Simon would give some of them a 
kiss on meeting with them, and would ask after 
their sisters, for he is acquainted with most of the 
farmers* families. Sometimes he would whisper, 
^nd affect to talk mischievously with them, and, 
if bantered on the subject, would turn it off witli 



MA Y-DA Y, 345 

a laugh, though it was evident he liked to be sus- 
pected of being a gay Lothario amongst them. 

He had much to say to the farmers about their 
farms ; and seemed to know all their horses by 
name. There was an old fellow, with a round 
ruddy face, and a night-cap under his hat, the 
village wit, who took several occasions to crack a 
joke with him in the hearing of his companions, 
to whom he would turn and wink hard when 
Master Simon had passed. 

The harmony of the day, however, had nearly, 
at one time, been interrupted, by the appearance 
of the radical on the ground, with two or three 
of his disciples. He soon got engaged in argu- 
ment in the very thick of the throng, above which 
I could hear his voice, and now and then see his 
meagre hand, half a mile out of the sleeve, elevated 
in the air in violent gesticulation, and flourishing 
a pamphlet by way of truncheon. He was de- 
crying these idle nonsensical amusements in times 
of public distress, when it was every one's busi- 
ness to think of other matters, and to be misera- 
ble. The honest villao^e lof>;icians could make no 
stand against him, especially as he was seconded 
by his proselytes ; when, to their great joy, Mas- 
ter Simon and the general came drifting down 
into the field of action. Master Simon was for 
making off, as soon as he found himself in ihh 
neighborhood of this fire-ship ; but the general 
was too loyal to suffer such talk in his hearing, 
and thought, no doubt, that a look and a word from 
a gentleman would be sufficient to shut up so 
fhabby an orator. The latter, however, was no 



346 BRACEBRWGE HALL. 

respecter of persons, but rather exalted in having 
such important antagonists. He talked with 
greater volubility than ever, and soon drowned 
them in declamation on the subject of taxes, 
poors' rates, and the national debt. Master Si- 
mon endeavored to brush along in his usual ex- 
cursive manner, which always answered amaz- 
ingly well with the villagers ; but the radical was 
one of those pestilent fellows that pin a man 
down to facts ; and, indeed, he had two or three 
pamphlets in his pocket, to support everything he 
advanced by printed documents. The general, 
too, found himself betrayed into a more serious 
action than his dignity could brook, and looked 
like a mighty Dutch Indiaman grievously pep- 
pered by a petty privateer. In vain he swelled 
and looked big, and talked large, and endeavored 
to make up by pomp of manner for poverty of 
matter ; every home-thrust of the radical made 
him wheeze like a bellows, and seemed to let a 
volume of wind out of him. In a word, the two 
worthies from the Hall were completely dumb- 
founded, and this too in the presence of several 
of Master Simon's stanch admirers, who had al- 
ways looked up to him as infallible. I do not 
know how he and the general would have man- 
aged to draw their forces decently from the field, 
liad not a match at grinning through a horse- 
collar been announced, whereupon the radical re- 
tired with great expression of contempt, and, as 
^oon as his back was turned, the argument was 
Ciirried against him all hollow. 

" Did you ever hear such a pack of stuflP, gen 



MA Y-DA Y. 347 

sral ? " said Master Simon ; " there 's no talking 
with one of these chaps when he once gets that 
contuunded Cobbett in his head." 

" S'blood, sir ! " said the general, wiping his 
Ibrehead, " such fellows ought to be transported ! " 

In the latter part of the day the ladies fronrir 
the Hall paid a visit to the green. The fair Julia 
made her appearance, leaning on her lo veer's arm. 
and looking extremely pale and interesting. As 
she is a great favorite in the village, where she 
has been known from childhood, and as her late 
accident had been much talked about, the sight of 
her caused very manifest delight, and some of the 
old women of the village blessed her sweet face 
as she passed. 

While they were walking about, I noticed the 
schoolmaster in earnest conversation with the 
Queen of May, evidently endeavoring to spirit 
her up to some formidable undertaking. At length, 
as the party from the Hall approached her bower, 
she came forth, faltering at every step, until she 
reached the spot where the fair Julia stood 'be- 
tween her lover and Lady Lillycraft. The little 
Queen then took the chaplet of flowers from her 
head, and attempted to put it on that of the bride 
elect ; but the confusion of both was so great 
that the wreath would have fallen to the ground, 
had not the officer caught it, and, laugliing, placed 
it upon the blushing brows of his mistress. There 
was something charming in the very embarrass- 
ment of these two young creatures, both so beauti- 
ful, yet so different in their kinds of beauty. JMas- 
ter Simon told me, afterwards, that the Queen of 



348 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

May was to have spoken a few verses which Ihe 
schoohnaster had written for her ; but she had 
neither wit to understand, nor memory to recol- 
lect them. " Besides," added he, " between you 
and I, she murders the kins^'s Eno^lish abomina- 
bly ; so she has acted the part of a wise woman 
in holding her tongue, and trusting to her pretty 
face." ^ 

Among the other characters from the Hall was 
Mrs. Hannah, my Lady Lillycraft's gentlewoman : 
to my surprise, she was escorted by old Christy, 
the huntsman, and followed by his ghost of a 
greyhound ; but I find they are very old acquaint- 
ances, being drawn together by some sympathy 
of disposition. Mrs. Hannah moved about with 
starched dignity among the rustics, who drew 
back from her with more awe than they did from 
her mistress. Her mouth seemed shut as with a 
clasp ; excepting that I now and then heard the 
word " fellows ! " escape from between her lips, as 
she got accidentally jostled in the crowd. 

But there was one otlier heart present that did 
not enter into the merriment of the scene, which 
was that of the simple Phoebe Wilkins, the house- 
keeper's niece. The poor girl has continued to 
pine and whine for some time past, in consequence 
of the obstinate coldness of her lover ; never was 
a little flirtation more severely punished. She ap- 
peared this day on the green, gallanted by a smart 
servant out of livery, and had evidently resolved 
to try the hazardous experiment of awakening 
the jealousy of her lover. She was dressed in 
her very best; affected an air cf great gayety 



MAT- J) AT, 349 

talked loud and girlishly, and laughed when there 
was nothing to laugh at. There was, however, 
an aching, heavy heart in the poor baggage's 
bosom, in spite of all her levity. Her eye turned 
every now and then in quest of her reckless lover, 
and her cheek grew pale, and her fictitious gayety 
vanished, on seeing him paying his rustic homage 
to the little May-day Queen. 

ALy attention was now diverted by a fresh 
Btir and buetle. Music was heard from a dis- 
tance ; a banner was advancing up the road, pre- 
ceded by a rustic band playing something like a 
march, and followed by a sturdy throng of coun- 
try lads^, the chivalry of a neighboring and rival 
village. 

No sooner hitd they reached the green than 
they challenged the heroes of the day to new trials 
of strength and activity. Several gymnastic 
contests ensued for the honor of the respective 
villages. In the course of these exercises, young 
Tibbets and the cnampion of the adverse party 
had an obslmate match at wrestling. They 
tugged, and strainud, and panted, without either 
getting the mastery, until both came to the ground, 
and rolled upon the green. Just then the discon- 
solate Phoebe came by. She saw her recreant 
lover in fierce contest, as she thought, and in dan- 
ger. In a moment pride, pique, and coquetry 
were forgotten : she rushed into the ring, seized 
upon the rival champion by the hair, and was on 
the point of wreaking on him her puny vengeance, 
when a buxom, strapping country lass, the sweet- 
heart of thr prostrate swain, pounced upon 1 er 



350 BdACEBRIDGE HALL. 

like a hawk, and would have stripped her of lier 
fine plumage in a twinkhng had she also not been 
seized in her turn. 

A complete tumult ensued. The chivalry of 
the two villages became embroiled. Blows began 
to be dealt, and sticks to be flourished. Phoebe 
was carried off from the field in hysterics. In 
vain did the sages of the village interfere. The 
sententious apothecary endeavored to pour the 
soothing oil of his philosophy upon this tempes- 
tuous sea of passion, but was tumbled into the 
dust. Slings by, the pedagogue, .^''^o is a great 
lover of peace, went into the midst Ol the throng, 
as marshal of the day, to put an end to the com- 
motion, but was rent in twain, and came out with 
his garment hanging in two strips from his shoul- 
ders : upon which the prodigal son dashed in with 
fury to revenge the insult sustained by his patron. 
The tumult thickened ; I caught glimpses of the 
jockey-cap of old Christy, like the helmet of 
a chieftain, bobbing about in the midst of the 
scuffle ; while Mistress Hannah, separated from 
her doughty protector, was squalling and strik- 
ing at right and left with a faded parasol ; being 
tossed and tousled about by the crowd in such 
wise as never happened to maiden gentlewoman 
before. 

At length old Ready-Money Jack made his way 
into the very thickest of the throng, tearing it, 
as it were, apart, and enforcing peace vi et arniis. 
It was surprising to see the sudden quiet that en- 
sued. The storm settled down at once into tran- 
quillity. The parties, having no real grounds o/ 



MAY-DAY, 351 

hostility, were readily pacified, and in fact Avere 
a little at a loss to know why and how they had 
got by the ears. Slingsby was speedily stitched 
together again by his friend the tailor, and re- 
sumed his usual good humor. Mrs. Hannah 
drew on one side to plume her rumpled feathers ; 
and old Christy, having repaired his damages, 
took her under his arm, and they swept back 
again to the Hall, ten times more bitter against 
mankind than ever. 

The Tibbets family alone seemed slow in re- 
covering from the agitation of the scene. Young 
Jack was evidently very much moved by the her- 
oism of the unlucky Phoebe. His mother, who 
had been summoned to the field of action by news 
of the affray, was in a sad panic, and had need 
of all her management to keep him from follow- 
ing his mistress, and coming to a perfect reconcil- 
iation. 

AVhat heightened the alarm and perplexity of 
the good managing dame was, that the matter 
had aroused the slow apprehensions of old Ready- 
Money himself; who was very much struck by 
the intrepid interference of so pretty and deli- 
cate a girl, and was sadly puzzled to understand 
the meaning of the violent agitation in hia 
family. 

When all this came to the ears of the Squire, 
he was grievously scandalized that his May-day 
fete should have been disgraced by such a brawl. 
He ordered Phoebe to appear before him, but the 
girl was so frightened and distressed, that she 
came sobbing and trembling, and, at the first 



^52 BRACEBRWGE HALL. 

question he asked, fell again into hysterics. liady 
Lillycraft, who understood there was an affair of 
the heart at the bottom of this distress, immedi- 
ately took the girl into great favor and protection, 
and made her peace with the Squire. This was 
the only thing that disturbed the harmony of the 
day, if we except the discomfiture of Master Si- 
mon and the general by the radical. Upon the 
whole, therefore, tlie Squire had very fair rea- 
son to be satisfied that he had rode his hobby 
tlu'oughout the day without any other molesta- 
tion. 

The reader, learned in these matters, will per 
ceive that all this was but a faint shadow of the 
once gay and fanciful rites of May. The peas- 
antry have lost the proper feeling for these 
rites, and have grown almost as strange to them 
as the boors of La Mancha were to the customs 
of chivalry in the days of the valorous Don 
Quixote. Indeed, I considered it a proof of the 
discretion with which the Squire rides his hobby, 
that he had not pushed the thing any farther, nor 
attempted to revive many obsolete usages of the 
day, which, in the present matter-of-fact times, 
would appear affected and absurd. I must say, 
though I do it under the rose, the general brawl 
in which this festival had nearly terminated has 
made me doubt whether these rural customs of 
the good old times were always so wQry loving 
and innocent as we are apt to fancy them, and 
whether the peasantry in those times were really 
BO Arcadian as they have been fondly represented 
I begin to fear ■ — 



MAT- DAY, 



353 



" lliose days were never; airy dreams 
Sat for the picture, and the poet's hand, 
Imparting substance to an empty shade, 
Imposed a gay delirium for a truth. 
Grant it; I still must envy them an age 
That fa^rored such a dream." 



23 




THE MANUSCRIPT. 




ESTERDAY was a day of quiet and 
repose after the bustle of May-day. 
During the morning I joined the ladies 
in a small sitting-room, the windows of which 
came down to the floor, and opened upon a ter- 
race of the garden, which was set out with deli- 
cate shrubs and flowers. The soft sunshine fall- 
ing into the room through the branches of trees 
that overhung the windows, the sweet smell of 
flowers, and the singing of birds, produced a pleas- 
ing yet calming effect on the whole party. Some 
time elapsed without any one speaking: Lady 
Lillycraft and Miss Templeton were sitting by 
an elegant work-table, near one of the windows, 
occupied with some pretty lady-like work. The 
captain was on a stool at his mistress's feet, look- 
ing over some music ; and poor Phoebe Wilkins, 
who has always been a kind of pet among the 
ladies, but who has risen vastly in favor with 
Lady Lillycraft in consequence of some tender 
confessions, sat in one corner of the room, with 
swollen eyes, working pensively at some of the 
fair Julia's wedding-ornaments. 

The silence was interrupted by her ladyship. 



THE MANUSCRIPT. 355 

who suddenly proposed a task to the captain. 
'^ I am in your debt," said she, " for that tale you 
read to us the other day ; I will now furnish ono 
in return, if you '11 read it ; and it is just suited 
to this sweet May morning, for it is all about 
love!" 

The proposition seemed to delight every cne 
present. The captain smiled assent. Her lady- 
ship rang for her page, and dispatched him to her 
room for the manuscript. " As the captain," said 
she, "gave us an account of the author of his 
story, it is but right I should give one of mine. 
It was written by the parson of the parish whei e 
I reside. He is a thin, elderly man, of a delicaie 
constitution, but positively one of the most charm- 
ing men that ever lived. He lost his wife a few 
years since ; one of the sweetest women you ever 
saw. He has two sons, whom he educates him- 
self; both of whom already write delightful po- 
etry. His parsonage is a lovely place, close by 
the church, all overrun with ivy and honey- 
suckles ; with the sweetest flower-garden about 
it ; for, you know, our country clergymen are al- 
most always fond of flowers, and make their par- 
sonages perfect pictures. 

" His living is a very good one, and he is very 
much beloved, and does a great deal of good in 
the neighborhood, and among the poor. And then 
such sermons as he preaches ! Oh, if you could 
only hear one taken from a text in Solomon's 
Song, all about love and matrimony, one of the 
sweetest things you ever heard ! He preaches it at 
least once a year, in spring-time, for he knows I 



356 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

am fond of it. He always dines with me on Sun- 
days, and often brings me some of the sweetest 
pieces of poetry, all about the pleasures of mel- 
ancholy, and such subjects, that make me cry so, 
you can't think. I wish he would publish. I 
think he has some things as sweet as anything of 
Moore or Lord Byron. 

" He fell into very ill health, some time ago, 
and was advised to go to the Continent ; and I 
gave him no peace until he went, and promised 
to take care of his two boys until he returned. 

" He was gone for above a year, and was 
quite restored. When he came back, he sent me 
the tale I 'm going to show you. — Oh, here it is ! " 
said she, as the page put in her hands a beautiful 
box of satin-wood. She unlocked it, and among 
several parcels on notes of embossed paper, cards 
of charades, and copies of verses, she drew out 
a crimson velvet case, that smelt very much 
of perfumes. From this she took a manuscript, 
daintily written on gilt-edged vellum paper, and 
stitched with a light - blue ribbon. This she 
handed to the captain, who read the following 
tale, which I have procured for the entertainment 
^f the reader. 




ANNETTE DELARBRE. 

The soldier frae the war returns, 
And the merchant from the mam, 
But I hae parted wi' my love, 
And ne'er to meet again, 

My dear, 
And ne'er to meet again. 

When day is gone, and night is come. 
And a' are houn to sleep, 
I think on them that 's far awa 
""he lee-lang night and weep. 
My dear, 
^e lee-lang night and weep. 

Old Scotch Ballad. 

the course of a tour in Lower Nor- 
mandy I remained for a day or two in 
the old town of Honfleur, which stands 
near the mouth of the Seine. It was the time 
of a fete, and all the world was thronging in the 
evening to dance at the fair, held before the 
chapel of Our Lady of Grace. As I like all kinds 
of innocent merry-making, I joined the throng. 

The chapel is situated at the top of a high hill, 
or promontory, whence its bell may be heard at a 
distance by the mariner at night. It is said to 
have given the name to the port of Havre de 
Grace, which lies directly opposite, on the other 
side of the Seine. The road up to the chapel 




358 BRACEBRWGE HaLl,, 

went in a zigzag course, along the ])row of the 
steep coast ; it was shaded by trees, from between 
which I had beautiful peeps at the ancient tow- 
ers of Honfleur below, the varied scenery of the 
opposite shore, the white buildings of Havre in 
the distance, and the wide sea beyond. The road 
wa*' enlivened by groups of peasant girls, in 
bright crimson dresses, and tall caps ; and I found 
all the flower of the neighborhood assembled on 
the green that crowds the summit of the hill. 

The chapel of Notre Dame de Grace is a fa- 
vorite resort of the inhabitants of Honfleur and 
its vicinity, both for pleasure and devotion. At 
this little chapel prayers are put up by the mari- 
ners of tlie port previous to their voyages, and by 
their friends during their absence ; and votive 
offerings are hung about its walls, in fulfilment 
of vows made during times of shipwreck and dis- 
aster. The chapel is surrounded by trees. Over 
the portal is an image of the Virgin and Child, 
with an inscription which struck me as bemg 
quite poetical : 

" Etoile de la mer, priez pour nous ! " 
(Star of the sea, pray for us.) 

On a level spot near the chapel, under a grove 
of noble trees, the populace dance on fine summer 
evenings ; and here are held frequent fairs and 
fetes, which assemble all the rustic beauty of the 
lo\ eliest parts of Lower Normandy. The pres- 
ent was an occasion of the kind. Booths and 
tents were erected among the trees ; there were 
the usual displays of linery to tempt the rural 



ANNETTE LELARBRE, 359 

coquette, and of wonderful shows to entice the 
curious ; mountebanks were exerting their elo- 
quence ; jugglers and fortune-tellers astonishing 
the credulous ; while whole rows of grotesque 
saints, in wood and wax-work, were offered for 
the purchase of the pious. 

The fete had assembled in one view all the 
picturesque costumes of the Pays d'Auge and the 
Cote de Caux. I beheld tall, stately caps, and 
trim bodices, according to fashions which have 
been handed down from mother to daughter for 
centuries ; the exact counterparts of those worn 
in the time of the Conqueror ; and which sur- 
prised me by their faithful resemblance to those 
in the old pictures of Froissart's Chronicles, and 
in the paintings of illuminated manuscripts. Any 
one, also, who has been in Lower Normandy, 
must have remarked the beauty of the peasantry, 
and that air of native elegance which prevails 
among them. It is to this country, undoubtedly, 
that the English owe their good looks. It was 
hence that the bright carnation, the fine blue eye, 
the light auburn hair, passed over to England in 
the train of the Conqueror, and filled the land 
with beauty. 

The scene before me was perfectly enchanting : 
the assemblage of so many fresh and blooming 
faces ; the gay groups in fanciful dresses ; some 
dancing on the green, others strolling about, or 
Beated on the grass ; the fine clumps of trees in 
ihe foreground, bordering the brow of this airy 
neight, and the broad green sea, sleeping in sum- 
mer tranquillity, in the distance. 



860 BRACEBRWGE BALL. 

Whilst I was regarding this animated picture, 
1 was struck with the appearance of a beautiful 
girl, who passed through the crowd without seem- 
ing to take any interest in their amusements. 
She was slender and delicate, without the bloom 
upon her cheek usual among the peasantry of 
Normandy, and her blue eyes had a singular and 
melancholy expression. She was accompanied by 
a venerable-looking man, whom I presumed to be 
her father. There was a whisper among the by- 
standers, and a wistful look after her as she 
passed ; the young men touched their hats, and 
some of the children followed her at a little dis- 
tance, watching her movements. She approached 
the edge of the hill, where there is a, little plat- 
form, whence the people of Plonfieur look out for 
the approach of vessels. Here she stood for some 
time waving her handkerchief, though there was 
nothing to be seen but two or three fishing-boats, 
like mere specks on the bosom of the distant 
ocean. 

These circumstances excited my curiosity, and 
I made some inquiries about her, which were an- 
swered with readiness and intelligence by a priest 
of the neighboring chapel. Our conversation drew 
together several of tlie by-standers, each of whom 
had something to communicate, and from them all 
I gathered the following particulars. 

Annette Delarbre was the only daughter of one 
of the higher order of farmers, or small proprie- 
tors, as they are called, of Pont I'Eveque, a pleas- 
ant village not far from Honfleur, in that ricJi pas- 
toral part of Lower Normandy called the Payfl 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 361 

d'Auge. Annette was the pride and delight of 
her parents, who brought her up with the fondest 
indulgence. She was gay, tender, petulant, and 
susceptible. All her feelings were quick and ar- 
dent ; and having never experienced contradiction 
nor restraint, she was little practised in self-con- 
trol : nothing but the native goodness of her heart 
kept her from running continually into error. 

Even while a child, her susceptibility was 
evinced in an attachment formed to a playmate, 
Eugene la Forgue, the only son of a widow of 
the neighborhood. Their childish love was an 
epitome of maturer passion ; it had its caprices, 
and jealousies, and quarrels, and reconciliations. 
It was assuming something of a graver character 
as Annette entered her fifteenth, and Eugene his 
nineteenth year, when he was suddenly carried 
off to the army by the conscription. 

It was a heavy blow to his widowed mother, 
for he was her only pride and comfort ; but it 
was one of those sudden bereavements which 
mothers were perpetually doomed to feel in 
France, during the time that continual and bloody 
wars were incessantly draining her youth. It 
was a temporary affliction also to Annette, to lose 
her lover. With tender embraces, half childish, 
half womanish, she parted from him. The tears 
streamed from her blue eyes as she bound a braiJ 
of her fair hair round his wrist ; but the smiles 
«till broke through ; for she was yet too young to 
feel how serious a thing is separation, and how 
many chances there are, when parting in this ^'id© 
world, against our ever meeting again 



362 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

Weeks, months, years flew by. Annette in* 
creased in beauty as she increased in years, and 
was the reigning belle of the neighborhood. Her 
time passed innocently and happily. Her father 
was a man of some consequence in the rural com- 
munity, and his house was the resort of the gay- 
est of the village. Annette held a kind of rural 
court ; she was always surrounded by companions 
of her own age, among whom she shone unrivalled. 
Much of their time \wis passed in making lace, 
the prevalent manufacture of the neighborhood. 
As they sat at this delicate and feminine labor, 
the merry tale and sprightly song went round : 
none laughed with a lighter heart than Annette ; 
and if she sang, her voice was perfect melody. 
Their evenings were enlivened by the dance, or 
by those pleasant social games so prevalent among 
the French ; and when she appeared at the vil- 
lage ball on Sunday evenings, she was the theme 
of universal admiration. 

As she was a rural heiress, she did not want 
for suitors. Many advantageous offers were made 
her, but she refused them all. She laughed at 
the pretended pangs of her admirers, and tri- 
umphed over them with the caprice of buoyant 
youth and conscious beauty. With all her ap- 
parent levity, however, could any one have read 
the story of her heart, they might have traced in 
it some fond remembrance of her early playmate, 
not so deeply graven as to be painful, but too deep 
to be easily obliterated ; and they might have no- 
ticed, amidst all her gayety, the tenderness that 
marked her manner towards the mother of Eu« 



ANNETTE DELARBRL. 363 

gene. She would often steal away from her 
youthful companions and their amusements.; to 
pass whole days with the good widow ; listening 
to her fond talk about her boy, and blushing with 
secret pleasure, when his letters were read, at find- 
ing herself a constant theme of recollection and 
inquiry. 

At length the sudden return of peace, which 
sent many a warrior to his native cottage, brought 
back Eugene, a young sunburnt soldier, to the 
village. I need not say how rapturously his re- 
turn was greeted by his mother, who saw jn him 
the pride and staff of her old age. He had risen 
in the service by his merit ; but brought away 
little from the wars, excepting a soldierlike air, a 
gallant name, and a scar across the forehead. He 
brought back, however, a nature unspoiled by the 
camp. He was frank, open, generous, and ardent. 
His heart was quick and kind in its impulses, and 
was perhaps a little softer from having suffered ; 
it was full of tenderness for Annette. He had 
received frequent accounts of her from his mother ; 
and the mention of her kindness to his lonely 
parent had rendered her doubly dear to him. He 
had been wounded ; he had been a prisoner ; he 
had been in various troubles, but had always pre- 
served the braid of hair which she had bound 
round his arm. It had been a kind of talisman 
(o him ; he had many a time looked upon it as he 
lay on the hard ground, and the thouglit that he 
might one day see Annette again, and the fair 
fields about his native village, had cheered his 
heart, and enabled him to bear up against every 
hardship. 



364 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

He had left Annette almost a child ; he found 
her a blooming woman. If he had loved her be 
fore, he now adored her. Annette was equally 
struck with the improvement time had made in 
her lover. She noticed, with secret admiration, 
his superiority to the other young men of the vil- 
lage ; the frank, lofty, military air, that distin- 
guished him from all the rest at their rural gath- 
erings. The more she saw him, the more her 
light, playful fondness of former years deepened 
into ardent and powerful affection. But Annette 
was a rural belle. She had tasted the sweets of 
dominion, and had been rendered wilful and ca- 
pricious by constant indulgence at home, and ad- 
miration abroad. She was conscious of her power 
ov^er Eugene, and delighted in exercising it. She 
sometimes treated him with petulant caprice, en- 
joying the pain which she inflicted by her frowns, 
from the idea how soon she would chase it away 
again by her smiles. She took a pleasure in 
alarming his fears, by affecting a temporary pref- 
erence for some one or other of his rivals ; and 
then would delight in allaying them by an ample 
measure of returning kindness. Perhaps there 
was some degree of vanity gratified by all this ; it 
might be a matter of triumph to show her abso- 
lute power over the young soldier, who was the 
universal object of female admiration. Eugene, 
however, was of too serious and ardent a nature 
to be trifled with. He loved too fervently not 
to be filled with doubt. He saw Annette sur- 
rounded by admirers, and full of animation, the 
gayest among the gaj at all their rural festivitiesj 



I 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 365 

and apparently most gay when he was most de- 
jected. Every one saw through this caprice but 
himself; every one saw that in reality she doted 
on him ; but Eugene alone suspected the sincerity 
of her affection. For some time he bore this co- 
quetry with secret impatience and distrust ; but 
his feelings grew sore and irritable, and overcame 
his self-command. A slight misunderstandhig 
took place ; a quarrel ensued. Annette, unaccus- 
tomed to be thwarted and contradicted, and full 
of the insolence of youthful beauty, assumed an 
air of disdain. She refused all explanations to 
her lover, and they parted in anger. That very 
evening Eugene saw her, full of gay ety, dancing 
with one of his rivals ; and as her eye caught 
his, fixed on her with unfeigned distress, it spar- 
kled with more than usual vivacity. It was a fin- 
ishing blow to his hopes, already so much im- 
paired by secret distrust. Pride and resentment 
both struggh^d in his breast, and seemed to rouse 
his spirit to all his wonted energy. He retired 
from her presence with the hasty determination 
never to see her again. 

A woman is more considerate in affairs of love 
than a man ; because love is more the study and 
business of her life. Annette soon repented of 
her indiscretion ; she felt that she had used her 
lover unkindly ; she felt that she had trifled with 
his sincere and generous nature ; — and then be 
looked so handsome when he parted after their 
quarrel — his fine features lighted up by indigna- 
tion. She had intended making up with him at 
the e^ ening dance ; but his sudden departure pre* 



366 BRACEBRIl OE HALL, 

ventoi her. She now promised herself that v^'her. 
next tliey met she would amply repay him by the 
sweets of a perfect reconciliation, and that, thence- 
forward, she would never — never tease him more ! 
That promise was not to be fulfilled. Day after 
day passed ; but Eugene did not make his ap- 
pearance. Sunday evening came, the usual time 
when all the gayety of the village assembled ; 
but Eugene was not there. She inquired after 
him ; he had left the village. She now became 
alarmed, and, forgetting all coyness and affected 
indifference, called on Eugene's mother for an ex- 
planation. She found her full of affliction, and 
learnt with surprise and consternation that Eu- 
gene had gone to sea. 

While his feelings were yet smarting with hei 
affected disdain, and his heart a prey to alter- 
nate indignation and despair, he had suddenly 
embraced an invitation which had repeatedly been 
made him by a relative, who was fitting out a 
ship from the port of Honfleur, and who wished 
him to be the companion of his voyage. Absence 
appeared to him the only cure for his unlucky pas- 
sion ; and in the temporary transports of his feel- 
ings there was something gratifying in the idea 
of having half the world intervene between them. 
The hurry necessary for his departure left no time 
for cool reflection ; it rendered him deaf to the 
remonstrances of his afflicted mother. He hast- 
ened to Honfleur just in time to make the need- 
ful preparations for the voyage ; and the first 
news that Annette received of this sudden de- 
termination was a letter delivered by his mother, 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 367 

returning her pledges of affection, particularly 
the long-treasured braid of her hair, and bidding 
her a last farewell, in terms more full of sorrow 
and tenderness than upbraiding. 

This was the first stroke of real anguish that 
Annette had ever received, and it overcame hor, 
The vivacity of her spirits were apt to hurry her 
to extremes ; she for a time gave way to ungovern- 
able transports of affliction and remorse, and man- 
ifested, in the violence of her grief, the real ardor 
of her affection. The thought occurred to her 
that the ship might not yet have sailed ; she seized 
on the hope with eagerness, and hastened with 
her father to Honfleur. The ship had sailed that 
very morning. From the heights above the town 
^he saw it lessening to a speck on the broad 
bosom of the ocean, and before evening the white 
^ail had faded from her sight. She turned full 
:)f anguish to the neighboring chapel of Our Lady 
)f Grace, and throwing herself on the pavement, 
Doured out prayers and tears for the safe return 
)f her lover. 

When she returned home, the cheerfulness of 
tier spirits was at an end. She looked back with 
-emorse and self-upbraiding on her past caprices ; 
»he turned with distaste from the adulation of her 
idmirers, and had no longer any relish for the 
imusements of the village. With humiliation and 
liffidence she sought the widowed mother of 
Eugene ; but was received by her with an over- 
sowing heart ; for she only beheld in Annette one 
who could sympathize in her doting fondness for 
ler son. It seemed some alleviation of her re- 



368 BRACEBRIDGE HALI 

morse to sit by the mother all day, to study her 
wants, to beguile her heavy hours, to hang about 
her with the caressino^ endearments of a dauo:hter, 
and to seek by every means, if possible, to supply 
the place of the son, whom she reproached her- 
self with having driven away. 

In the mean time the ship made a prosperous 
voyage to her destined port. Eugene's mother 
received a letter from him, in which he lamented 
the precipitancy of his departure. The voyage 
had given him time for sober reflection. If An- 
nette had been unkind to him, he ought not to 
have forgotten what was due to his mother, who 
was now advanced in years. He accused him- 
self of selfishness in only listening to the sugges- 
tions of his own inconsiderate passions. He 
promised to return with the ship, to make his 
mind up to his disappointment, and to think of 

nothing but making his mother happy "And 

when he does return," said Annette, clasping her 
hands a\ ith transport, '^ it shall not be my fault 
if he ever leaves us again." 

The time approached for the sliip's return. 
She was daily expected, when the weather be- 
came dreadfully tempestuous. Day after day 
brought news of vessels foundered, or driven on 
shore, and the coast was strewed with wrecks. 
Intelligence was received of the looked-for ship 
having been seen dismasted in a violent storm, and 
the greatest fears were entertained for her safety. 

Annette never left the side of Eugene's mother. 
She watched every change of her countenance 
with painful solicitude, and endeavored to cheer 



ANNETTE DELARBRE, 369 

lier with hopes, while her own mind was racked 
by anxiety. She tasked her efforts to be gay ; 
but it was a forced and unnatural gayety ; a sigh 
from the mother would completely check it ; and 
when she could no longer restrain the rising tears, 
she would hurry away and pour out her agony in 
Bccret, Every anxious look, every anxious in- 
quiry of the mother, whenever a door opened, or 
tt strange face appeared, was an arrow to her 
soul. She considered every disappointment as a 
pang of her own infliction, and her heart sick- 
ened under the care-worn expression of the ma- 
ternal eye. At length this suspense became in- 
supportable. She left the village and hastened 
to Honileur, hoping every hour, every moment, 
to receive some tidings of her lover. She paced 
the pier, and wearied the seamen of the port with 
her inquiries. She made a daily pilgrimage 
to the chapel of Our Lady of Grace ; hung vo- 
tive garlands on the wall, and passed hours either 
kneeling before the altar, or looking out from the 
brow of the hill upon the angry sea. 

At length word was brought that the long- 
wished-for vessel was in sight. She was seen 
standing into the mouth of the Seine, shattered 
av d crippled, bearing marks of having been sadly 
t<:n.pest-tossed. A general joy was diffused by 
her return ; and there was not a brighter eye, nor 
a lighter heart, than Annette's in the little port 
oi* Ilonfleur. The ship came to anchor in the 
river ; and a boat put off for the shore. The pop- 
ulace crowded down to the pier-head to welcome 
it. Annette stood blushing, and smiUng, and trem- 
24 



370 UhACEBUWGE BALL. 

bling, and weeping ; for a thousand painfully pleas- 
ing emotions agitated her breast at the thoughts 
of the meeting and reconciliation about to take 
place. 

Her heart throbbed to pour itself out, and atone 
to her gallant lover for all its errors. At one 
moment she would place herself in a conspicuous 
situation, where she might catch his view at once, 
and surprise him by her welcome ; but the next 
moment a doubt would come across her mind, 
and she would shrink among the throng, trem- 
bling and faint, and gasping with her emotions. 
Her agitation increased as the boat drew near, 
until it became distressing ; and it was almost a 
relief to her when she perceived that her lover 
was not there. She presumed that some accident 
had detained him on board of the ship, and felt 
that the delay would enable her to gather more 
self-possession for the meeting. As the boat 
neared the shore, many inqmries were made, and 
laconic answers returned. At length Annette 
heard some inquiries after her lover. Her heart 
palpitated ; there was a moment's pause : the re- 
ply was brief, but awful. He had been washed 
from the deck, with two of the crew, in the midst 
of a stormy night, when it was impossible to ren- 
der any assistance. A piercing shriek broke 
from among the crowd ; and Annette had nearly 
fallen into the waves. 

The sudden revulsion of feelings after such a 
transient gleam of happiness Avas too much for 
her harassed frame. She was carried home 
Benseless. Her life was fo' some 4me despaired 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 371 

jf, and it was months before she recovered her 
heahh ; but she never had perfectly recovered her 
mind : it still remained unsettled with respect to 
her lover's fate. 

" The subject," continued my informer, " is 
never mentioned in her hearing ; but she some- 
limes speaks of it herself, and it seems as though 
there were some vague train of impressions in 
her mind, in which hope and fear are strangely 
mingled ; some imperfect idea of her lover's ship- 
wreck, and yet some expectation of his return. 

" Her parents have tried every means to cheer 
her, and to banish these gloomy images from her 
thoughts. They assemble round her the young 
companions in whose society she used to deliglit ; 
and they will work, and chat, and sing, and laugh, 
as formerly ; but she will sit silently among them, 
and will sometimes weep in the midst of their 
gayety ; and, if spoken to, will make no reply, but 
look up with streaming eyes, and sing a dismal 
little song, which she has learned somewhere, 
about a shipwreck. It makes every one's heart 
ache to see her in this way, for she used to be the 
happiest creature in the village. 

" She passes the greater part of the time witL 
Eugene's mother ; whose only consolation is her 
society, and who dotes on her with a mother's 
tenderness. She is the only one that has perfect 
•'ifiuence over Annette in every mood. The pooi 
girl seems, as formerly, to make an effort to be 
cheerful in her company ; but will sometimes 
gaze upon her with the most piteous look, and 
'hen kiss her gray hairs, and fall on her neck and 
weep. 



372 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

" She is not always melancholy, however ; 
there are occasional intervals when she will be 
bright and animated for days together ; but a de- 
gree of wildness attends these fits of gayety, that 
prevents their yielding any satisfaction to her 
friends. At such times she will arrange her room, 
which is all covered with pictures of ships and 
legends of saints ; and will wreathe a white chap- 
let, as for a wedding, and prepare wedding-orna- 
ments. She will listen anxiously at the door, 
and look frequently out at the window, as if ex- 
pecting some one's arrival. It is supposed that 
at such times she is looking for her lover's return ; 
but, as no one touches upon the theme, or men- 
tions his name in her presence, the current of her 
thoughts is mere matter of conjecture. Now 
and then she will make a pilgrimage to the chapel 
Df Notre Dame de Grace ; where she will pray 
for hours at the altar, and decorate the images 
with wreaths that she has woven ; or will wave 
her handkerchief from the terrace, as you have 
seen, if there is any vessel in the distance." 

Upwards of a year, he informed me, had now 
elapsed without effacing from her mind this sin- 
gjular taint of insanity ; still her friends hoped it 
might gradually wear away. They had at one 
time removed her to a distant part of the country, 
in hopes that absence from the scenes connected 
with her story might have a salutary effect ; but, 
when her periodical melancholy returned, she be- 
came more restless and wretched than usual, and, 
secretly escaping from her friends, set out on foot, 
without knowing the road, on one of her pilgrim- 
ages to the chapel. 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 373 

This little story entirely drew my attention 
from the gay scene of the fete, and fixed it upon 
the beautiful Annette. While she was yet stand- 
ing on the terrace, the v^esper-bell rang from the 
neighboring chapel. She listened for a moment, 
and then drawing a small rosary from her bosom, 
walked in that direction. Several of the peas- 
antry followed her in silence ; and I felt too much 
interested not to do the same. 

The chapel, as I said before, is in the midst of 
a grove, on the high promontory. The inside 
is hung round with little models of ships, and 
rude paintings of wrecks and perils at sea, and 
providential deliverances : the votive offerings of 
captains and crews that have been saved. On 
entering, Annette paused for a moment before a 
picture of the Virgin, which, I observed, had re- 
cently been decorated with a wreath of artificial 
flowers. Wlien she reached the middle of the 
chapel she knelt down, and those who followed 
her involuntarily did the same at a little distance. 
The evening sun shone softly through the check- 
bred grove into one window of the chapel. A 
perfect stillness reigned within ; and this stillness 
was the more impressive, contrasted with the dis- 
tant sound of music and merriment from the fair. 
I could not take my eyes off from the poor sup- 
pliant ; her lips moved as she told her beads, but 
her prayers were breathed in silence. It might 
have been mere fancy excited by the scene, that, 
as she raised her eyes to heaven, I thought they 
had an expression truly seraphic. But I am 
ea&^y affected by female beauty, and there wa« 



374 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

Bomething in this mixture of love, devotion, and 
partial iiisaiiity, inexpressibly touching. 

As the poor girl left the chapel, there was a 
sweet serenity in her looks ; and I was told sho 
would return home, and in all probability be calm 
and cheerful for days, and even weeks ; in which 
time it was supposed that hope predominated in 
her mental malady ; and when the dark side of 
her mind, as her friends call it, was about to turn 
up, it would be known by her neglecting her dis- 
taff or her lace, singing plaintive songs, and weep- 
ing in silence. 

Slie passed on from the chapel without notic- 
ing the- fete, but smiling and speaking to many as 
she passed. I followed her with my eyes as she 
descended the winding road towards Honfleur, 
leaning on her father's arm. " Heaven," thought 
I, " has ever its store of balms for the hurt mind 
and wounded spirit, and may in time rear up this 
broken flower to be once mor-e the pride and joy 
of the valley. The very delusion in which the 
poor girl walks may be one of those mists kindly 
diffused by Providence over the regions of thought, 
when they become too fruitful of misery. The 
veil may gradually be raised which obscures the 
horizon of her mind, as she is enabled steadily 
and calmly to contemplate the sorrows at present 
hidden in mercy from her view." 

On my return from Paris, about a year after- 
wards, I turned off from the beaten route at Rouen, 
to revisit some of the most striking scenes of 
Lower Normandy. Having passed through the 



ANNETTE DELARBRE, 375 

lovely country of the Pays d'Aiige, I reached 
Honfieur on a fine afternoon, intending to cross to 
Havre the next morning, and embark for England. 
As I had no better way of passing the evening, I 
strolled up the hill to enjoy tlie fine prospect 
from the chapel of Notre Dame de Grace ; and 
while there, I thought of inquiring after the fate 
y)^ poor Annette Delarbre. The priest who had 
told me her story was officiating at vespers, after 
which I accosted him, and learnt from him the 
remaining circumstances. He told me that from 
the time I had seen her at the chapel, her disor- 
der took a sudden turn for the worse, and her 
health rapidly declined. Her cheerful intervals 
became shorter and less frequent, and attended 
with more incoherency. She grew languid, silent, 
and moody in her melancholy ; her form was 
wasted, her looks were pale and disconsolate, and 
it was feared she would never recover. She be- 
came impatient of all sounds of gayety, and was 
never so contented as when Eugene's mother was 
near her. The good woman watched over her 
with patient, yearning solicitude ; and in seeking 
to beguile her sorrows, would half forget her own. 
Sometimes, as she sat looking upon her pallid face, 
the tears would fill her eyes, which when An- 
nette perceived, she would anxiously wipe them 
away, and tell her not to grieve, for that Eugene 
would soon return ; and then she would affect a 
forced gayety, as in former times, and sing a 
lively air ; but a sudden recollection would come 
over her, and she would burst into tears, hang on 
the poor mother's neck, and entreat her not to 
3urso her for having destroyed her sou. 



376 BRACEBRIDGE HaLL 

Just at this time, to the astonishment of every 
one, news was received of Eugene ; who, it ap- 
pears, was still living. When almost drowned, 
he had fortunately seized upon a spar washed 
from the ship's deck. Finding himself nearly 
exhausted, he fastened himself to it, and floated 
for a day and night, until all sense left him. On 
recovering, he found himself on board a vessel 
bound to India, but so ill as not to move without 
assistance. His health continued precarious 
throughout the voyage ; on arriving in India, he 
experienced many vicissitudes, and was transferred 
from ship to ship, and hospital to hospital. His 
constitution enabled him to struggle through 
every hardship ; and he was now in a distant 
port, waiting only for the sailing of a ship to re- 
turn home. 

Great caution was necessary in imparting these 
tidings to the mother, and even then she was 
nearly overcome by the transports of her joy. 
But how to impart them to Annette was a matter 
of still greater perplexity. Her state of mind 
had been so morbid, she had been subject to 
such violent changes, and the cause of her de- 
rangement had been of such an inconsolable and 
hopeless kind, that her friends had always forborne 
to tamper with her feelings. They had never 
even hinted at the subject of her griefs, nor encour- 
aged the theme when she adverted to it, but had 
passed it over in silence, hoping that time would 
gradually wear the traces of it from her recollec- 
tion, or, at least, would render them less painfuL 
They now felt at a loss how to undeceive he? 



ANNETTE DELAEBRE, '^ll 

even ii. her misery, lest the sudden recurrence of 
happiness might confirm the estrangement of lier 
reason, or might overpower her enfeebled frame. 
They ventured, however, to probe those wounds 
which they formerly did not dare to touch, for 
they now had the balm to pour into them. They 
led the conversation to tliose topics which they 
had hitherto shunned, and endeavored to ascertain 
the current of her thoughts in those varying moods 
which had formerly perplexed them. They found 
her mind even more affected than they had imag- 
ined. All her ideas were confused and wander- 
ing. Her bright and cheerful moods, which now 
grew seldomer than ever, were all the effects of 
mental delusion. At such times she had no rec- 
ollection of her lover's having been in danger, but 
was orJy anticipating his arrival. "' TVhen the 
winter has passed away," said she, " and the trees 
put on their blossoms, and the swallow comes 
back over the sea, he will return." When she 
was droopmg and desponding, it was in vain to 
remind her of what she had said in her gayo* 
moments, and to assure her that Eugene would 
indeed return shortly. She wept on in silence, 
and appeared insensible to their words. But at 
times her agitation became violent, when she 
would upbraid herself with having driven Eugene 
from his mother, and brought sorrow on her gray 
hairs. Her mind admitted but one leading idea 
at a time, which nothing could avert or efface ; or 
if they ever succeeded in interrupting the current 
of her fancy, it only became the more incoherent, 
and mereased the feverishness that preyed upon 



578 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

both mind and body. Her friends felt more alaim 
for her than ever, for they feared her senses were 
irrevocably gone, and her constitution completely 
undermined. 

In the mean time Eugene returned to the vil- 
lage. He was violently affected when the story 
of Annette was told him. With bitterness of 
heart he upbraided his own rashness and infatua- 
tion that had hurried him away from her, and ac- 
cused himself as the »'Hithor of all her woes. His 
mother would describe to him all the anguish and 
remorse of poor Annette ; the tenderness with 
which she clung to her, and endeavored, even in 
the midst of her insanity, to console her for the loss 
of her son ; and the touching expressions of affec- 
tion mingled with her most incoherent wanderings 
of thought, until his feelings would be wound up 
to agony, and he would entreat her to desist from 
the recital. They did not dare as yet to bring him 
into Annette's sight; but he was permitted to see 
her when she was sleeping. The tears streamed 
down his sunburnt cheeks as he contemplated 
the ravages which grief and malady had made ; 
and his heart swelled almost to breaking as he 
beheld round her neck the very braid of hair 
which she once gave him in token of girlish affec- 
tion, and which he had returned to her in anger. 

At length the physician that attended her de- 
termined to adventure upon an experiment ; to 
take advantage of one of those cheerful moods 
when her mind was visited by hope, and to en- 
deavor to engraft, as it were, the reality upon the 
delusions of her fancy. These moods had now 



ANNETTE DELARBRE, 379 

become very rare, for nature was sinking under 
the continual pressure of her mental malady, and 
the principle of reaction was daily growing 
weaker. Every effort was tried to bring on a 
cheerful interval of the kind. Several of her 
most favorite companions were kept contii;iially 
about her ; they chatted gayly, they laughed, and 
sang, and danced ; but Annette reclined with 
languid frame and hollow eye, and took no part 
in their gayety. At length the winter was gone ; 
the trees put forth their leaves ; the swallows be- 
gan to build in the eaves of the house, and the 
robin and wren piped all day beneath the window. 
Annette's spirits gradually revived. She began 
to deck her person with unusual care ; and bring- 
ing forth a basket of artificial flowers, went to work 
to wi'eathe a bridal chaplet of white roses. Her 
companions asked her why she prepared the 
chaplet. " What ! " said she with a smile, " have 
you not noticed the trees putting on iheir wed- 
ding-dresses of blossoms? Has not the swallow 
flown back over the sea ? Do you not know that 
the time is come for Eugene to return ? that he 
will be home to-morrow, and that on Sunday we 
are to be married ? " 

Her words were repeated to the physician, and 
he seized on them at once. He directed that her 
idea should be encouraged and acted upon. Her 
words were echoed through the house. Every 
one talked of the return of Eugene as a matter 
of course ; they congratulated her upon her ap- 
proaching happiness, and assisted her in her prep- 
arations. The next morninff the same theme was 



380 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

resumed. She was dressed out to receive her 
lover. Every bosom fluttered with anxiety. A 
cabriolet drove into the village. " Eugene is com- 
ing!" was the cry. She saw him alight at the 
door, and rushed with a shriek into his arms. 

Her friends trembled for the result of this crit- 
ical experiment ; but she did not sink under it,i 
for her fancy had prepared her for his return. 
She was as one in a dream, to whom a tide of 
unlooked-for prosperity, that would have over- 
whelmed his waking reason, seems but the natu- 
ral current of circumstances. Her conversation, 
however, showed that her senses were wandering. 
There was an absolute forgetfulness of all past 
sorrow ; a wild and feverish gayety that at times 
was incoherent. 

The next morninoj she awoke lano;uid and ex- 
hausted. All the occurrences of the preceding 
day had passed away from her mind as though 
they had been the mere illusions of her fancy. She 
rose melancholy and abstracted, and as she dressed 
herself, was heard to sing one of her plaintive 
ballads. When she entered the parlor, her eyes 
were swollen with weeping. She heard Eugene's 
voice without, and started ; passed her hand 
across her forehead, and stood musing, like one 
endeavoring to recall a dream. Eugene entered 
the room, and advanced towards her ; she looked 
At him with an eager, searching look, murmured 
feome indistinct words, and, before he could reach 
her, sank upon the floor. 

She relapsed into a wild and unsettled state of 
niind ; but now that the first shock was over, the 



A.NNETTE DELARBRE, 881 

physician oidered that Eugene should keep con- 
tinually in her sight. Sometimes she did not 
know him ; at other times she would talk to him 
as if he were going to sea, and would implore 
him not to part from her in anger ; and when he 
was not present, she would speak of him as if 
buried in the ocean, and would sit, with clasped 
hands, looking upon the ground, the picture of 
despair. 

As the agitation of her feelings subsided, and her 
frame recovered from the shock it had received, she 
became more placid and coherent. Eugene kept 
almost continually near her. He formed the real 
object round which her scattered ideas once more 
gathered, and which linked them once more with 
the realities of life. But her changeful disorder 
now appeared to take a new turn. She became 
languid and inert, and would sit for hours silent, 
and almost in a state of lethargy. If roused from 
this stupor, it seemed as if her mind would make 
some attempt to follow up a train of thought, but 
would soon become confused. She would regard 
every one that approached her v\rith an anxious 
and inquiring eye, that seemed continually to dis- 
appoint itself. Sometimes, as her lover sat hold- 
ing her hand, she would look pensively in his 
face without saying a word, until his iieart was 
overcome ; and after these transient fits of intel- 
lectual exertion, she would sink again into leth- 
argy. 

]3y degrees this stupor increased ; her mind 
appeared to have subsided into a stagnant and al- 
most deathl'ke calm. For the greater part of the 



382 ttRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

time her eyes were closed ; her face was almost 
as fixed and passionless as that of a corpse. She 
no longer took any notice of surrounding objects. 
There was an awfulness in this tranquillity that 
filled her friends with apprehensions. The phy- 
sician ordered that she should be kept perfectly 
quiet ; or that, if she evinced any agitation, she 
should be gently lulled, like a child, by some fa- 
vorite tune. 

Slie remained in this state for hours, hardly 
seeming to breathe, and apparently sinking into 
the sleep of death. Her chamber was profoundly 
still. The attendants moved about it with noise- 
less tread ; everything was communicated by signs 
and whispers. Her lover sat by her side watch- 
ing her with painful anxiety, and fearing every 
breath which stole from her pale lips would be the 
last. 

At length she heaved a deep sigh ; and from 
some convulsive motions, appeared to be troubled 
in her sleep. Her agitation increased, accom- 
panied by an indistinct moaning. One of her 
companions, remembering the physician's instruc- 
tions, endeavored to lull her by singing, in a low 
voice, a tender little air, which was a particular 
favorite of Annette's. Probably it had some con- 
nection in her mind with her own story ; for every 
fond girl has some ditty of the kind, linked in her 
thoughts with sweet and sad remembrances. 

As she sang, the agitation of Annette su])sided. 
A streak of faint color came into her cheeks ; 
her eyelids became swollen with rising tears 
which trembled there for a moment, and then, 



AJSlNh.TTI' OiCLARBtiLL 888 

stealing forth, coursed down her pallid cheek. 
When the song was ended, she opened her eyes, 
and looked about her, as one awaking in a strange 
place. 

" Oh Eugene ! Eugene ! " said she, " it seems 
as if I have had a long and dismal dream ; what 
has happened, and what has been the matter with 
me?" 

The questions were embarrassing ; and before 
they could be answered, the physician, who was 
in the next room, entered. She took him by the 
hand, looked up in his face, and made the same 
inquiry. He endeavored to put her off with some 
evasive answer. " No, no ! '' cried she, " I know 
£ have been ill, and I have been dreaming strangely. 
I thought Eugene had left us — and that he had 
gone to sea — and that — and that he was 
drowned I — But he has been to sea ! " added she 
earnestly, as recollection kept flashing upon her, 
" and he has been wrecked — and we were all so 
wretched — and he came home again one bright 
morning — and — oh ! " said she, pressing her 
hand against her forehead with a sickly smile, " I 
see how it is ; all has not been right here. I be- 
gin to recollect — but it is all past now — Eu- 
genr^ is here ! and his mother is happy — and 
we will never — never part again — shall we, 
Eugene ? " 

She sunk back in her chair exhausted ; the 
tears streamed down her cheeks. Her compan- 
ions hovered round her, not knowing what to 
make of this sudden dawn of reason. Her lover 
sobbed aloud. She opened her eyes again, and 



384 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

looked upon tliem with an air of the sweetest ac- 
knowledgment. " You are all so good to me ! ' 
said she, faintly. 

The physician drew the flither aside. " Your 
daughter's mind is restored," said he ; " she is 
sensible that she has been deranged ; she is grow- 
ing conscious of the past, and conscious of the 
present. All that now remains is to keep her 
calm and quiet until her health is reestablished, 
and then let her be married, in God's name ! " 

*' The wedding took place," continued the good 
priest, "but a short time since ; they were here 
at the last fete during their honey-moon, and a 
handsomer and happier couple was not to be seen 
as they danced under yonder trees. The young 
man, his wife, and mother, now live on a fine farm 
at Pont L'Eveque ; and that model of a ship 
which you see yonder, with white flowers wreathed 
round it, is Annette's offering of thanks to our 
Lady of Grace, for having listened to lier prayers, 
and protected her lover in the hour of peril." 

The captain having finished, there was a mo- 
mentary silence. The tender-hearted Lady Lil- 
ly craft, who knew the story by heart, had led tli(3 
way in weeping, and indeed often began to shed 
tears before they came to the right place. 

The fair Julia was a little flurried at the pas- 
sage where wedding preparations wxre mentioned ; 
but the auditor most affected was the simple 
Phoebe Wilkins. She Imd gradually dropped her 
work in her lap, and sat sobbing through the lat- 
ter part of the story, ur til towards the end, when 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 385 

the happy reverse had nearly produced another 
scene of hysterics. " Go, take this case to ray 
room again, child," said Lady Lillycraft kindly, 
" and don't cry so much." 

" I won't, an't please your ladyship, if I can 
help it ; — but I 'm glad they made all up again, 
and were married ! " 

By the way, the case of this lovelorn damsel 
begins to make some talk in the household, espe- 
cially among certain little ladies, not far in their 
teens, of whom she has made confidants. She is 
a great favorite with them all, but particularly so 
since she has confided to them her love-secrets 
They enter into her concerns with all the violent 
zeal and overwlielming sympathy with which lit- 
tle boarding-school ladies engage in the politics of 
a love-affair. 

I have noticed them frequently clustering 
about her in private conferences, or walking up 
and down the garden-terrace under my window, 
listening to some long and dolorous story of her 
afflictions ; of which I could now and then dis- 
tinguish the ever-recurring phrases " says he," and 
" says she." 

I accidentally interrupted one of these little 
councils of Avar, when they were all huddled to- 
gether under a tree, and seemed to be earnestly 
considering some interesting document. The flut- 
ter at my approach showed that there were some 
secrets under discussion ; and I observed the dis- 
consolate Phoebe crumpling into her bosom eithei 
a love-letter or an old valentine, and brushing 
away the tears from her cheeks. 
25 



886 BRACEBRTDGE HALL. 

The girl is a good girl, of a soft, melting na- 
ture, and shows her concern at the cruelty of her 
lover only in tears and drooping looks; but with 
the little ladies who have espoused her cause, it 
sparkles up into fiery indignation ; and T have 
noticed on Sunday many a glance darted at the 
pew of the Tibbets's, enough even to melt down 
tiiC silver buttons on old Ready-Money's jacket 




TRAVELLING. 

A citizen, for recreation sake, 

To see the country would a journey take 

Some dozen mile, or very little more ; 

Taking his leave with friends two months before 

With drinking healths, and shaking by the hand, 

As he had travail'd to some new-found land. 

Doctor Merrie Man, 1609. 




HE Squire has lately received another 
shock in the saddle, and been almost 
unseated by his marplot neighbor, the 
indefatigable Mr. Faddy, who rides his jog-trot 
hobby with equal zeal ; and is so bent upon im- 
proving and reforming the neighborhood, that the 
Squire thinks, in a little while, it will be scarce 
worth living in. The enormity that has thus dis- 
composed my worthy host is an attempt of the 
manufacturer to have a line of coaches established, 
that shall diverge from the old route, and pass 
through the neighboring village. 

I believe I have mentioned that the Hall is 
situated in a retired part of the country, at a dis- 
tance from any great coach-road ; insomuch that 
the arrival of a traveller is apt to make every one 
look out of the window, and to cause some talk 
among the ale-drinkers at the little inn. I was 
at a loss, therefore, to account for the Squire's 
indignation at a measure apparently fraught with 



388 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

convenience and advantage, until I found that the 
conveniences of travelling were among his great- 
est grievances. 

In fact, he rails against stage-coaches, post 
chaises, and turnpike roads, as serious causes of 
the corruption of English rural manners. They 
have given facilities, he says, to every humdrum 
citizen to trundle his family about the kingdom, 
and have sent the follies and fashions of town 
whirling, in coach-loads, to the remotest parts of 
the island. The whole country, he says, is trav- 
ersed by these flying cargoes ; every by-road is 
explored by enterprising tourists from Cheapside 
and the Poultry, and every gentleman's park and 
lawns invaded by cockney sketchers of both sexes, 
with portable chairs and portfolios for drawing. 

He laments over this as destroying the charm 
of privacy, and interrupting the quiet of country 
life ; but more especially as affecting the simplic- 
ity of the peasantry, and filling their heads with 
half-city notions. A great coach-inn, he says, is 
enough to ruin the manners of a whole village. 
It creates a horde of sots and idlers ; makes gapers 
and gazers and newsmongers of the common peo- 
ple, and knowing jockeys of the country bump- 
kins. 

The Squire has something of the old feudal 
feeling. He looks back with regret to the " good 
old times," when journeys were only made on 
horseback, and the extraordinary difficulties of 
travelling, owing to bad roads, bad accommodations, 
and highway robbers, seemed to separate each 
village and hamlet from the rest of the world. 



TRA YELLING, 389 

The lord of the manor was then a kind of mon- 
arch in the little realm around him. He held 
his court in his paternal hall, and was looked up 
to with almost as much loyalty and deference as 
the king himself. Every neighborhood was a 
little world within itself, having its local manners 
and customs, its local history and local opinions. 
The inhabitants were fonder of their homes, and 
thought less of wandering. It was looked upon 
as an expedition to travel out of sight of the par- 
ish steeple ; and a man that had been to London 
was a village oracle for the rest of hi^ life. 

What a difference between the mode of trav- 
elling in those days and at present ! At that 
time, when a gentleman went on a distant visit, 
he sallied forth like a knight-errant on an enter- 
prise, and every family excursion was a pageant. 
How splendid and fanciful must one of those do- 
mestic cavalcades have been, where the beautiful 
dames were mounted on palfreys magnificently ca- 
parisoned, with embroidered harness, all tinkling 
with silver bells ; attended by cavaliers richly 
attired on prancing steeds, and followed by pages 
and serving-men, as we see them represented in 
old tapestry. The gentry, as they travelled about 
in those days, were like moving pictures. They 
delighted the eyes and awakened the admiration 
of the common people, and passed before them 
like superior beings ; and indeed they were so ; 
there was a hardy and healthful exercise connected 
with this equestrian style, that made them gener- 
ous and noble. 

In his fondness for the old style of travelling, 



390 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

the Squire makes most of his journeys on horse* 
back, though he laments the modern deficiency 
of incident on the road, from the want of fellow- 
wayfarers, and the rapidity with which every one 
else is whirled along in coaches and post-chaises. 
In "he " good old times," on the contrary, a cava- 
lier jogged on through bog and mire, from town 
to town, and hamlet to hamlet, conversing with 
friars and franklens, and all otlier chance compan- 
ions of the road ; beguiling the way with trav- 
ellers' tales, which then vvere truly wonderful, 
for everything beyond one's neighborhood was full 
of marvel and romance ; stopping at night at some 
" hostel," where the bush over the door proclaimed 
good wine, or a pretty hostess made bad wine 
palatable ; meeting at supper with trav^ellers, or 
listening to the song or merry story of the host, who 
was generally a boon companion, and presided at 
his own board ; for, according to old Tusser's " Imi- 
holder's Poesie," 

" At meales my friend who vitleth here 

And sitteth with his host, 
Shall both be sure of better cheere, 

And 'scape with lesser cost.'* 

The Squire is fond, too, of stopping at thos(i 
inns which may be met with, here and there, in 
ancient houses of wood and plaster, or calimanco 
houses, as they are called by antiquaries, with 
deep porches, diamond-paned bow-windows, pan- 
elled rooms, and great fireplaces. He will prefer 
them to more spacious and modern inns, and 
would cheerfully put up with bad cheer and bad 
accommodations in the gratification of his humor. 



TRAVELLING. 391 

rhey give him, he says, the feeling of old times, 
insomuch that he almost expects, in the dusk of 
the evening, to see some party of weary travellers 
ride up to the door, with phimes and mantles, 
trunk-hose, wide boots, and long rapiers. 

The good Squire's remarks brought to mind a 
visit I once paid to the Tabard Inn, famous for 
being the place of assemblage whence Chaucer's 
pilgrims set forth for Canterbury. It is in the 
borough of South wark, not far from London 
Bridge, and bears, at present, the name of " The 
Talbot." It has sadly declined in dignity since 
the days of Chaucer, being a mere rendezvous 
and packing-place of the great wagons that travel 
into Kent. The court-yard, which was anciently 
the mustering - place of the pilgrims previous to 
their departure, was now lumbered with huge 
wagons. Crates, boxes, hampers, and baskets, 
containing the good things of town and country, 
were piled about them ; while, among the straw 
and litter, the motherly hens scratched and clucked, 
with their hungry broods at their heels. Instead 
of Chaucer's motley and splendid throng, I only 
saw a group of wagoners and stable-boys enjoy- 
ing a circulating pot of ale ; while a long-bodied 
dog sat by, with head on one side, ear cocked up, 
and wistful gaze, as if waiting for his turn at the 
tankard. 

Notwithstanding this grievous declension, how- 
ever, I was gratified at perceiving that the pres- 
ent occupants were not unconscious of the poeti- 
cal renown of their mansion. An inscription 
»ver the gateway proclaimed it to be the inn 



392 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

where Chaacer's pilgrims slept on the night pre- 
vious to their departure, and at the bottom of ths 
yard was a magnificent sign, representing them 
in the act of sallying forth. I was pleased, too, 
at noticing, that though the present inn was com- 
paratively modern, the form of the old inn was 
preserved. There were galleries round the yard, 
as in old times, on which opened the chambers of 
the guests. To these ancient inns have antiqua- 
ries ascribed the present forms of our theatres. 
Plays were originally acted in the inn-yards. The 
guests lolled over the galleries, which answered 
to our modern dress-circle ; the critical mob clus- 
tered in the yard instead of the pit ; and the 
groups gazing from the garret-windows were no 
bad representatives of the gods of the shilling 
gallery. When, therefore, the drama grew im- 
portant enough to have a house of its own, the 
architects took a hint for its constru«^tion from 
the yard of the ancient " hostel." 

I was so well pleased at finding these remem- 
brances of Chaucer and his poem, that I ordered 
my dinner in the little parlor of the Talbot, 
Whilst it was preparing, I sat at the window, 
musnig, and gazing into the court-yard, and con- 
uirmg up recollections of the scenes depicted in 
such lively colors by the poet, until, by degrees, 
boxes, bales, and hampers, boys, wagoners, and 
dogs faded from sight, and my fancy peopled 
the place with the motley throng of Canterbury 
pilgrims. The galleries once more swarmed with 
idle gazers, in the rich dresses of Chaucer's time, 
and the whole cavalcade seemed to pass before 



TRAVELLING. 893 

me. There was the stately knight on sober steed, 
who had ridden in Christendom and heathenesse, 
and had " foughten for our faith at Tramissene " ; 
— and his son, the young squire, a lover, and a 
lusty bachelor, with curled locks and gay em- 
broidery; a bold rider, a dancer, and a writer of 
verses, singing and fluting all day long, and 
" fresh as the month of May " ; — and his " knot- 
headed " yeoman ; a bold forester, in green, with 
horn, and baudrick, and dagger ; a mighty bow 
in hand, and a sheaf of peacock arrows shining 
beneath his belt ; — and the coy, smiling, simple 
nun, with her gray eyes, her small red mouth and 
fair forehead, her dainty person clad in featly 
cloak and " 'ypinched wimple," her coral beads 
about her arm, her golden brooch with a love- 
motto, and her pretty oath " by Saint Eloy " ; — 
and the merchant, solemn in speech and high on 
horse, with forked beard and ^' Flaundrish bever 
hat " ; — and the lusty monk, " full fat and in 
good point," with berry-brown palfrey, his hood 
fastened with gcid pin, wrought with a love-knot 
his bald head shining like glass, and his face glis 
tening as though it had been anointed ; - — and the 
lean, logical, sententious clerke of Oxenforde, 
upon his half-starved, scholarlike horse ; — and 
the bowsing sompnour, with fiery-cherub face, all 
knobbed with pimples, an eater of garlic and 
onions, and drinker of " strong wine, red aa 
blood/' that carried a cake for a buckler, and 
babbled Latin in his cups; of whose brimstone 
risage " children were sore aferd " ; — and the 
uuxom wife of Bath, the widow of five husbands 



394 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

upon her ambling nag, with her hat broad as a 
buckler, her red stockings and sharp spurs ; — 
and the slender, choleric reeve of Norfolk, be- 
striding his good gray stot ; with close-shaven 
beard, his hair cropped round his ears ; long, lean 
calfiess legs and a rusty blade by his side ; — • 
and the jolly Limitour, with lisping tongue and 
twinkling eye, well beloved of franklens and 
housewives, a great promoter of marriages among 
young women, known at the taverns in every town 
and by every " hosteler and gay tapstere." In 
short, before I was roused from my reverie by the 
less poetical, but more substantial apparition of 
a smoking beefsteak, I had seen the whole caval- 
cade issue forth from the hostel-gate, with the 
brawny, double-jointed, red-haired miller, playing 
the bagpipes before them, and the ancient host 
of the Tabard giving them his farewell God-send 
to Canterbury. 

When 1 told the Squire of the existence of this 
legitimate descendant of the ancient Tabard Inn, 
his eyes absolutely glistened with delight. He 
determined to hunt it up the very first time he 
visited London, and to eat a dinner there, and 
drink a cup of mine host's best wine, in memory 
of old Chaucer. The general, who happened to 
be present, immediately begged to be of the party, 
for he liked to encourage these long-(istablished 
houses, as they are apt to have choice old wines. 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 

Farewell rewards and fairies, 

Good housewives now may say j 
For now fowle sluts in dairies 

Do fare as well as they : 
And though they sweepe their hearths no lesse 

Than maids were wont to doe, 
Yet who of late for cleanlinesse 

Finds sixpence in her shooe ? 

Bishop Corbet. 




HAVE mentioned the Squire's fondness 
for the marvellous, and his predilectiop 
for legends and romances. His library 
contains a curious collection of old works of this 
kind, wli^ch bear evident marks of having been 
much reaJ. In his great love for all that is an- 
tiquated, siie cherishes popular superstitions, and 
listens, Wxih very grave attention, to every tale, 
however strange ; so that, through his countenance, 
the housbiiold, and indeed the whole neighbor- 
hood, is ^all stocked with wonderful stories ; and 
if ever a Joubt is expressed of any one of them, 
the nariHtor will generally observe, that " the 
Squire thinks there 's something in it." 

The Hall of course comes in for its share, the 
common people having always a propensity to 
furnish fc» great superannuated building of the 



396 BRACEBRIDGK HALL. 

kind with supernatural inhabitants. The gloomj 
galleries of such old family mansions : the stately 
chambers, adorned with grotesque carvings and 
faded paintings ; the sounds that vaguely echo 
about them ; the moaning of the wind ; the cries 
of rooks and ravens from the trees and chimnfy- 
lo[)S ; all produce a state of mind favorable to 
sui)erstitious fancies. 

In one chamber of the Hall, just opposite a 
door which opens upon a dusky passage, there is 
a full-length portrait of a warrior in armor. 
When, on suddenly turning into the passage, I 
have caught a sight of the portrait, thrown into 
strong relief by the dark panelling against which 
it hangs, I have more than once been startled, as 
though it were a figure advancing towards me. 

To superstitious minds, therefore, predisposed 
by the sti-ange and melancholy stories connected 
with family paintings, it needs but little stretch 
of fancy, on a moonlight night, or by the flicker- 
ing light of a candle, to set the old pictures on 
the walls in motion, sweeping in their robes and 
trains about the galleries. 

The Squire confesses that he used to take a 
pleasure in his younger days in setting marvel- 
lous stories afloat, and connecting them with the 
lonely and peculiar places of the neighborhood. 
Whenever he read any legend of a striking na- 
ture, he endeavored to transplant it, and give it a 
local habitation among the scenes of his boyhood. 
Many of these stories took root, and he says he 
is often amused with the odd shapes in which they 
come back to him in some old woman's narrative, 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS 397 

after they have been circulating for years among 
the peasantry, and undergoing rustic additions 
and amendments. Among these may doubtless 
be numbered that of the crusader's ghost, which 
I have mentioned in the account of my Christ- 
mas visit ; and another about the hard-riding 
squire of yore, the family Nimrod, who is some- 
times heard on stormy winter nights, galloping, 
with hound and horn, over a wild moor a few 
miles distant from the Hall. This I apprehend 
to have had its origin in the famous story of the 
wild huntsman, the favorite goblin in German 
tales ; though, by the by, as I was talking on the 
subject with Master Simon, the other evening in 
the dark avenue, he hinted that he had himself 
once or twice heard odd sounds at night, very 
like a pack of hounds in cry ; and that once, as 
he was returning rather late from a hunting-din- 
ner, he had seen a strange figure galloping along 
this same moor ; but as he was riding rather fast 
at the time, and in a hurry to get home, he did 
not stop to ascertain what it was. 

Popular superstitions are fast fading away in 
England, owing to the general diffusion of knowl- 
edge, and the *bustling intercourse kept up 
throughout the country; — still they have their 
strongholds and lingering places, and a retired 
neighborhood like this is apt to be one of them. 
The parson tells me that he meets with many tra- 
ditional beliefs and notions among the common 
people, which he has been able to draw from 
them in the course of familiar conversation, 
though they are rather shy of avowing them to 



398 BRACEBRIDGL HALL 

strangers, and particularly to " the gentry " who 
are apt to laugh at them. He says there are 
several of his old parishioners who remember 
when the village had its bar-guest, or bar-ghost ; 
a spirit supposed to belong to a town or village, 
and to predict any impending misfortune by mid- 
night shrieks and wailings. The last time it waa 
heard was just before the death of Mr Brace- 
bridge's father, who was much beloved through- 
out the neighborhood ; though there are not 
wanting some obstinate unbelievers, who insisted 
that it was nothinjj but the howlinoj of a watch- 
dog. I have been greatly delighted, however, 
at meeting with some traces of my old favorite, 
Bobin Goodfellow. though under a different ap- 
pellation from any of those by which I have 
heretofore heard him called. The parson assures 
me that many of the peasantry believe in house- 
hold goblins, called Dobbies, which live about 
particular farms and houses, in the same way that 
R-obin Goodfellow did of old. Sometimes they 
haunt the barns and out-houses, and now and then 
will assist the farmer wonderfully, by getting in 
all his hay or corn in a single niglit. In general, 
however, they prefer to live Within doors, and 
are fond of keeping about the great hearths, and 
basking at night, after the family have gone to 
bed, by the glowing embers. When put in par- 
ticular good humor by the warmth of their lodg- 
ings, and the tidiness of the housemaids, they will 
overcome their natural laziness, and do a vast 
deal of household work before morning ; chur-n- 
ing the cream, brewing the beer, or spinning all 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 399 

the good dame's flax. All this is precisely the 
conduct of Robin Goodfellow, described so charm- 
ingly by Milton : 

" Tells how the drudging goblin sweat 
To earn his cream-bowl duly set, 
When in one night, ere glimpse of mom, 
His shadowy flail had threshed the corn 
That ten day laborers could not end ; 
Then lays him down the lubber-fiend. 
And stretched out all the chimney's length, 
Basks at the fire his hairy strength. 
And crop-full, out of door he flings 
Ere the first cock his matin rings." 

But beside these household Dobbies, there are 
others of a more gloomy and unsocial nature, 
which keep about lonely barns, at a distance from 
any dwelling-house, or about ruins and old bridges. 
These are full of mischievous, and often malig- 
nant tricks, and are fond of playing pranks upon 
benighted travellers. There is a story, among 
the old people, of one which haunted a ruined 
mill, just by a bridge that crosses a small stream ; 
how that late one night, as a traveller was pass- 
ing on horseback, the goblin jumped up behind 
him, and grasped him so close round the body that 
he had no power to help himself, but expected to 
be squeezed to death ; luckily his heels were loose, 
with which he plied the sides of his steed, and 
was carried, with the wonderful instinct of a trav- 
eller's horse, straight to the village inn. Had the 
inn been at any greater distance, there is no doubt 
but he would have been strangled to death ; as it 
was, the good people were a long time in bring- 
ing him to his senses, and it was remarked that 



400 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

the first sign lie showed of returning conscious 
ness, was to call for a bottom of brandy. 

These mischievous Dobbies bear much resem- 
blance in their natures and habits to the sprites 
which Hey wood, in his " Hierarchic," calls pugs oi 
hobgoblins : 

" Their dwellings be 
In corners of old houses least frequented, 
Or beneath stacks of wood, and these convented, 
Make fearful noise in butteries and in dairies; 
Robin Goodfellow some, some call them fairies, 
In solitarie rooms these uprores keep, 
And beate at doores to wake men from their slepe, 
Seeming to force lockes, be they nere so strong, 
And keeping Christmasse gambols all night long. 
Pots, glasses, trenchers, dishes, pannes, and kettles 
They Avill mske dance about the shelves and settles, 
As if about the kitchen tost and cast. 
Yet in the mcmmg nothing found niisplac't. 
Others such houses to their use have fitted 
In which base raurthers have been once committed. 
Some have their fearfid habitations taken 
In desolate houses, ruin'd and forsaken." 

in the account of our unfortunate hawking ex- 
pea ition, I mentioned an instance of one of these 
sprites supposed to haunt the ruined grange that 
stands in a lonely meadow, and has a remarkable 
echo. The parson informs me, also, of a belief 
once very prevalent, tliat a household Dobbie 
kept about the old farmhouse of the Tibbetses. 
It has long been traditional, he says, that one oi 
these good-natured goblins is attached to the Tib- 
bets family, and came with them when they 
moved into this part of the country ; for it is one 
of the peculiarities of these household sprites, 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 401 

that they attach themselves to the fortunes of 
certain families, and follow them in all their re- 
movals. 

There is a large old-fashioned fireplace in the 
farmhouse, which affords fine quarters for achhn- 
ney-corner sprite that likes to lie warm, — espe- 
cially as Ready-Money Jack keeps up rousing fires 
ii. the winter time. The old people of the village 
recollect many stories about this goblin, current 
in their young days. It was thought to have 
brought good luck to the house, and to be the 
reason why the Tibbetses were always beforehand 
in the world ; and why their farm was always ir. 
better order, their hay got in sooner, and their 
corn better stacked, than that of their neighbors. 
The present Mrs. Tibbets, at the time of he^' 
courtship, had a number of these stories told her 
by the country gossips ; and when married, was a 
little fearful about livinij in a house where such a 
hobgoblin was said to haunt. Jack, however, who 
has always treated this story with great contempt, 
assured her that there was no spirit kept about 
his house that he could not at any time lay in the 
Red Sea with one flourish of his cudgel. Still 
his wife has never got completely over her notions 
on the subject ; but has a horse-shoe nailed on 
tlie threshold, and keeps a branch of rauntry, or 
mountain-ash, with its red berries, suspended from 
Oi\e of the great beams in the parlor, — a sure 
protection from all evil spirits.^ 

These stories, as I before observed, are fast 
fading away, and in another generation or two 
w^ill probably be completely forgotten. There is 



402 BRACEBRFDGE HALL, 

Bome thing, however, about these rural supersti 
tious extremely pleasing to the imagination ; par- 
ticularly those which relate to the good-humored 
race of household demons, and indeed to the 
whole fairy mythology. The English have given 
an inexpressible charm to these superstitions, by 
the manner in which they have associated tliem 
with whatever is most homefelt and delightful in 
nature. I do not know a more fascinating race 
of beings than these little fabled people who 
haunted the southern sides of hills and mountains ; 
lurked in flowers and about fountain-heads ; glid- 
ed through keyholes into ancient halls ; watched 
over farmhouses and dairies ; danced on the green 
by summer moonlight, and on the kitchen heartk* 
in winter. They accord with the nature of Eng 
lish housekeeping and English scenery. I al- 
ways have them in mind when I see a fine old 
English mansion, with its wide hall and spacious 
kitchen ; or a venerable farmhouse, in which 
there is so much fireside comfort and good house- 
wifery. There was something of national char- 
acter in their love of order and cleanliness ; in the 
vigilance with which they watched over the econ- 
omy of the kitchen, and the functions of the ser- 
vants ; munificently rewarding, with silver sixpen(K) 
in shoe, the tidy housemaid, but venting their dire- 
ful wrath, in midnight bobs and pinches, upon the 
sluttish dairymaid. I think I can trace the good 
effects of this ancient fairy sway over household 
concerns in the care that prevails to the presen/ 
day among English housemaids to put theii 
kitchens in order before they go to bed. 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 403 

I have said that these fairy superstitions accord 
with the nature of English scenery. They suit 
these small landscapes, which are divided by hon- 
eysuckle hedges into sheltered fields and mead- 
ows ; where the grass is mingled with daisies, 
buttercups, and hare-bells. When I first found 
myself among English scenery, I was continually 
reminded of the sweet pastoral images which dis- 
tinguish tlieir fairy mythology ; and when for the 
first time a circle in the grass was pointed out to 
me as one of the rings where they were formerly 
supposed to have held their moonlight revels, it 
seemed for a moment as if fairy-land were no 
longer a fable. Brown, in his " Britannia's Pasto- 
rals," gives a picture of the kind of scenery to 
which I allude : 

" A pleasant mead 
Where fairies often did their measures tread ; 
Which in the meadows make such circles green 
As if with garlands it had crowned been. 
Within one of these rounds was to be seen 
A hillock rise, where oft the fairy queen 
At twilight sat.'* 

And there is another picture of the same, in a 
poem ascribed to Ben Jonson : 

" By wells and rills in meadows green, 
We nightly dance our hey-dey guise, 
And to our fairy king and queen 

We chant our moonlight minstrelsies." 

Indeed, it seems to me, that the older British 
poets, with that true feeling for nature which dis- 
tinguishes them, have closely adhered to the sim- 
ple and fiimiliar imagery which they found in 



404 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

these popular superstitions ; and have thus given 
to their fairy mytliology those continual allusions 
to the farmhouse and the dairy, the green meadow 
and the fountain-head, which fill our minds with 
the delightful associations of rural life. It is cu- 
rious to observe how the most beautiful fictions 
have their origin among the rude and ignorant. 
There is an indescribable charm about the illusions 
with which chimerical ignorance once clothed 
every subject. These twilight views of nature 
are often more captivating than any which are re- 
vealed by the rays of enlightened philosophy. The 
most accomplished and poetical minds, therefore, 
have been fain to search back into the accidental 
conceptions of wdiat are termed barbarous ages, 
and to draw from them their finest imagery and 
machinery. If we look through our most admired 
poets, we shall find that their minds have been 
impregnated by these popular fancies, and that 
those have succeeded best who have adhered clos- 
est to the simplicity of their rustic originals. Such 
is the case with Shakspeare in his " Midsummer- 
Night's Dream," which so minutely describes the 
employments and amusements of fairies, and em- 
bodies all the notions concerning them which 
were current among the vulgar. It is thus that 
poetry in England has echoed back every rustic 
note, softened into perfect melody; it is this that 
has spread its charms over every-day life, displac- 
ing nothing ; taking things as it found them ; but 
tinting them up with its own magical hues, until 
every green hill and fountain-head, every fresh 
meadow, nay, every humble flower, is full of song 
and story 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 40d 

I am dwelling too long, perhaps, upon a thread* 
bare subject ; yet it brings up with it a thousand 
delicious recollections of those happy days of 
childhood, when the imperfect knowledge I ha\'e 
since obtained had not yet dawned upon my mind, 
and when a fairy tale was true history to me. I 
have often been so transported by the pleasure of 
these recollections, as almost to wish I had been 
boi*n in the days when the fictions of poetry were 
believed. Even now I cannot look upon those 
fanciful creations of ignorance and credulity, with- 
out a lurking regret that they have all passed 
away. The experience of my early days tells 
me, they were sources of exquisite delight ; and 
I sometimes question whether the naturaHst who 
can dissect the flowers of the field receives lialf 
tlie pleasure from contemplating them that he 
did who considered them the abode of elves and 
fairies. I feel convinced that the true interests 
and solid happiness of man are promoted by the 
advancement of truth ; yet I cannot but mourn 
over the pleasant errors which it has trampled 
down in its progress. The fauns and sylphs, the 
household sprites, the moonlight revel, Oberon, 
Queen Mab, and the delicious realms of fairy-land, 
all vanish before the light of true philosophy ; but 
who does not sometimes turn with distaste from 
the cold realities of morning, and seek to recall 
ihe sweet visions of the night ? 



THE CULPRIT. 




From fire, from water, and all things amiss, 
Deiiyer the house of an honest justice. 

The Widow. 

HE serenity of the Hall has been sud- 
denly interrupted by a very important 
occurrence. In the course of this morn- 
ing a posse of villagers was seen trooping up the 
avenue, with boys shouting in advance. As it 
drew near, we perceived Ready-Money Jack Tib- 
bets striding along, wielding his cudgel in one 
hand, and with the other grasping the collar of a 
tall fellow, whom, on still nearer approach, we 
recognized for the redoubtable gypsy hero. Star- 
light Tom. He was now, however, completely 
cowed and crestfallen, and his courage seemed to 
have quailed in the iron gripe of the lion-hearted 
Jack. 

The whole gang of gypsy women and children 
came draggling in the rear ; some in tears, other's 
making a violent clamor about the ears of old 
Ready-Money, who, however, trudged on in silence 
with his prey, heeding their abuse as little as a 
hawk that has pounced upon a barn-door hero 
regards the outcries and cacklings of his whole 
feathered seraglio. 



THE CULPRIT, 407 

He had passed through the village on his way 
to the Hall, and of course had made a great sen 
sation in that most excitable place, where every 
event is a matter of gaze and gossip. The report 
flew like wildfire, that Starlight Tom was in cus- 
tody. The ale-drinkers forthwith abandoned the 
tap-room ; Slingsby's school broke loose, and mas- 
ter and boys swelled the tide that came rolling at 
the heels of old Ready-Money and his captive. 

The uproar increased as they approached the 
Hall ; it aroused the whole garrison of dogs, and 
the crew of hangers-on. The great mastiff barked 
from the dog-house ; the staghound and the grey- 
hound, and the spaniel, issued barking from the 
hall-door, and my Lady Lillycraft's little dogs 
ramped and barked from the parlor-window. I 
remarked, however, that the gypsy dogs made no 
reply to all these menaces and insults, but crept 
close to the gang, looking round with a guilty, 
poaching air, and now and then glancing up a 
dubious eye to their owners ; which shows that 
the moral dignity, even of dogs, may be ruined by 
bad company ! 

When the throng reached the front of the house 
they were brought to a halt by a kind of advanced 
guard, composed of old Christy, the gamekeeper, 
and two or three servants of the house, who had 
been brought out by the noise. The common 
herd of the village fell back with respect; the 
boys were driven back by Christy and his com- 
peers ; while Ready-Money Jack maintained his 
ground and his hold of the prisoner, and was sur- 
rounded by the tailor, the schoolmaster, and sev- 



408 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

eral other dignitaries of the village, and by the 
clamorous brood of gypsies, who were neither to 
be silenced nor intimidated. 

By this time the whole household were brought 
to the doors and windows, and the Squire to the 
portal. An audience was demanded by Ready - 
Money Jack, who had detected the prisoner in the 
very act of sheep-stealing on his domains, and had 
borne him off to be examined before the Squire, 
who was in the commission of the peace. 

A kind of tribunal was immediately held in the 
servants' hall, a large chamber, with a stone floor, 
and a long table in the centre, at one end of 
which, just under an enormous clock, was placed 
the Squire's chair of justice, while Master Simon 
took his place at the table as clerk of the court. 
An attempt had been made by old Christy to keep 
out the gypsy gang, but in vain, and they, with 
the village worthies, and the household, half filled 
the hall. The old housekeeper and the butler 
were in a panic at this dangerous irruption. They 
hurried away all the valuable things and portable 
articles that were at hand, and even kept a dragon 
watch on the gypsies, lest they should carry off 
the house-clock, or the deal table. 

Old Christy, and his faithful coadjutor the game- 
keeper, acted as (constables to guard the prisoner, 
triumphing in having at last got this terrible of- 
fender in their clutches. Indeed, I am inclined 
to think the old man bore some peevish recollec- 
tion of having been handled rather roughly by 
the gypsy in the chance - medley affair of May 
day. 



THE CULPRIT. 409 

Silence was now commanded by Master Simon, 
but it was difficult to be enforced in such a mot* 
ley assemblage. There was a continual snarling 
and yelping of dogs, and, as fast as it was quelled 
in one corner, it broke out in another. The 
poor gypsy curs, who, like errant thieves, could 
not hold up their heads in an honest house, were 
worried and insulted by the gentlemen dogs of 
the establishment, without offering to make resist- 
ance ; the very curs of my Lady Lillycraft bullied 
them with impunity. 

The examination was conducted with great 
mildness and indulgence by the Squire, partly 
from the kindness of his nature, and partly, I sus- 
pect, because his heart yearned towards the cul- 
prit, who had found great favor in his eyes, as I 
have already observed, from the skill he had at 
various times displayed in archery, morris-dancing, 
and other obsolete accomplishments. Proofs, how- 
ever, were too strong. Ready-Money Jack told 
his story in a straightforward independent way, 
nothing daunted by the presence in which he 
found himself He had suffered from various dep- 
redations on his sheepfold and poultry-yard, and 
had at length kept watch, and caught the delin- 
quent in the very act of making off with a sheep 
on his shoulders. 

Tibbets was repeatedly interrupted, in the course 
of his testimony, by the culprit's mother, a furious 
old beldame, with an insufferable tongue, and who, 
in fact, was several times kept, with some diffi- 
culty, from flying at him tooth and nail. The 
wife, too, of the prisoner, whom I am told he does 



410 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

not beat above half a dozen times a week, com 
pletely interested Lady Lilly craft in her husband s 
behalf, by her tears and supplications ; and sev- 
eral of the other gypsy women were awakening 
strong sympathy among the young girls and maid- 
servants in the background. The pretty black- 
eyed gypsy girl, whom I have mentioned on a 
former occasion as the sibyl that read the fortunes 
of the general, endeavored to wheedle that doughty 
warrior into their interests, and even made some 
approaches to her old acquaintance, Master Simon ; 
but was repelled by the latter with all the dig- 
nity of office, having assumed a look of gravity 
and importance suitable to the occasion. 

I was a little surprised, at first, to find honest 
Slingsby, the schoolmaster, rather opposed to his 
old crony Tibbets, and coming forward as a kind 
of advocate for the accused. It seems that he 
had taken compassion on the forlorn fortunes of 
Starlight Tom, and had been trying his eloquence 
in his favor the whole way from the village, but 
without effect. During the examination of Ready- 
Money Jack, Slingsby had stood like "dejected 
pity at his side," seeking every now and then, by 
a soft word, to soothe any exacerbation of his ire, 
or to qualify any harsh expression. He now ven- 
tured to make a few observations to the Squire 
in palliation of the delinquent's offence ; but poor 
Sluigsby spoke more from the heart than the head, 
and was evidently actuated merely by a general 
sympathy for every poor devil in trouble, and a 
liberal toleration for all kinds of vagabond ex- 
istence. 



THE CULPRIT. 41] 

The ladies, too, large and small, with the kind- 
heartedness of the sex, were zealous on the side 
of mercy, and interceded strenuously with the 
Squire ; insomuch that the prisoner, finding him- 
self unexpectedly surrounded by active friends, 
once more reared his crest, and seemed disposed 
for a time to put on the air of injured innocence. 
The Squire, however, w^ith all his benevolence 
of heart, and his lurking weakness towards the 
prisoner, was too conscientious to swerve from the 
strict path of justice. Abundant concurring tes- 
timony made the proof of guilt incontrovertible, 
and Starlight Tom's mittimus was made out ac- 
cordingly. 

The sympathy of the ladies was now greatei 
than ever; they even made some attempts to 
mollify the ire of Eeady-Money Jack ; but that 
sturdy potentate had been too much incensed by 
the repeated incursions into his territories by the 
predatory band of Starlight Tom, and he ,was re- 
solved, he said, to drive the " varment reptiles " 
out of the neighborhood. To avoid all further 
importunities, as soon as the mittimus was made 
out, he girded up his loins, and strode back to his 
seat of empire, accompanied by his interceding 
friend, Slingsby, and followed by a detachment 
of the gypsy gang, who hung on his rear, as.^ail- 
ing him with mingled prayers and execrations. 

The question now was, how to dispose of the 
prisoner ; a matter of great moment in this peace- 
ful establishment, where so formidable a charac- 
ter as Starlight Tom was like a hawk entrapped 
in a dove-cote. As the hubbub and examina- 



412 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

tion had occupied a considerable time, it was too 
late in the day to send him to the county prison, 
and that of the village was sadly out of repair, 
from long want of occupation. Old Christy, who 
took great interest in the affair, proposed that 
the culprit should be committed for the night to 
an upper loft of a kind of tower in one of the 
out-houses, where he and the gamekeeper would 
mount guard. After much deliberation, this meas- 
ure was adopted; the premises in question were 
examined and made secure, and Christy and his 
trusty ally, the one armed with a fowling-piece, 
the other with an ancient blunderbuss, turned out 
as sentries to keep watch over this donjon-keep. 

Such is the momentous affair that has just 
taken place, and it is an event of too great mo- 
ment in this quiet little world not to turn it com- 
pletely topsy-turvy. Labor is at a stand. The 
house has been a scene of confusion the whole 
evening. It has been beleaguered by gypsy wom- 
en, with their children on their backs, wailing 
and lamenting ; while the old virago of a mother 
has cruised up and down the lawn in front, shak- 
ing her head and mutterino; to herself, or now and 
then breaking into a paroxysm of rage, brandish- 
ing her fist at the Hall, and denouncing ill luck 
upon Ready-Money Jack, and even upon the 
Squire himself. 

Lady Lillycraft has given repeated audiences 
to tlie culprit's weeping wife, at the Hall-door ; 
and the servant-maids have stolen out to confer 
with the gypsy women under the trees. As to 
the little ladies of the family, they are all out- 



THE CULPRIT, 413 

rageoiis at Keadj-Moncy Jack, whom ttiey look 
upon in the light of a tyrannical giant of fairy tale. 
Plioebe AYilkins, contrary to her usual nature, is 
the only one pitiless in the affair. She thinks 
Mr. Tibbets quite in the right ; and thinks the 
oypsies deserve to be punished severely for med- 
dling with the sheep of the Tibbetses. 

In the mean time the females of the family 
evinced all the provident kindness of the sex, ever 
ready to soothe and succor the distressed, right or 
wrong. Lady Lillycraft has had a mattress taken 
to the out-house, and comforts and delicacies of all 
kinds have been taken to the prisoner ; even the 
little girls have sent their cakes and sweetmeats ; 
so that, I '11 warrant, the vagabond has never fared 
so well in his life before. Old Christy, it is true, 
looks upon everything with a wary eye ; struts 
about with his blunderbuss Avith the air of a vet- 
eran campaigner, and will hardly allow himself to 
be spoken to. The gypsy women dare not come 
within gunshot, and every tatterdemalion of a boy 
has been frightened from the park. The old fel- 
low is determined to lodoje Starlio^ht Tom in 
prison witL his own hands ; and hopes, he says, 
to see one of the poaching crew made an ex- 
ample of. 

I doubt, after all, whether the worthy Squire is 
not the greatest sufferer in the whole affair. His 
honorable sense of duty obliges him to be rigid, 
but the overflowing kindness of his nature makes 
this a grievous trial to him. 

He is not accustomed to have such demands 
upon his justice in his truly patriarchal domain ; 



414 BRACEBRTDGE HALL. 

and it ^vounds his benevolent spirit, that, while 
prosperity and happiness are flowing in thus boun- 
teously upon him, he should have to inflict mis- 
ery upon a fellow-being. 

He has been troubled and cast down the whole 
evening ; took leave of the family, on going to 
bed, with a sigh, instead of his usual hearty and 
affectionate tone ; and will, in all probability, have 
a far more sleepless night than his prisoner. In- 
deed, this unlucky affair has cast a damp upon 
the whole household, as there appears to be a 
universal opinion that the unlucky culprit will 
come to the gallows. 

Mornino^. — The clouds of last evenino^ are all 
blown over. A load has been taken from the 
Squire's heart, and every face is once more in 
smiles. The gamekeeper made his appearance at 
an early hour, completely shamefaced and crest- 
fallen. Starlight Tom had made his escape in 
the night ; how he had got out of the loft, no one 
could tell : the Devil, they think, must have as- 
sisted him. Old Christy was so mortified that 
he would not show his face, but had shut himself 
up in his stronghold at the dog-kennel, and would 
not be spoken with. What has particularly re- 
lieved the Squire is, that there is very little like 
lihood of the culprit's being retaken, having gone 
off on one of the old gentleman's best hunteru 



FAMILY MISFORTUNES. 

The night has been unruly : where we lay, 
The chimneys were blown down. 

Macbeth 




E have for a day or two past had a flaw 
of unruly weather, which has intruded 
itself into this fair and flowery month, 
and for a time quite marred the beauty of the 
landscape. Last night the storm attained its cri- 
sis ; the rain beat in torrents against the case- 
ments, and the wind piped and blustered about 
the old Hall with quite a wintry vehemence. The 
morning, however, dawned clear and serene ; the 
face of the heavens seemed as if newly washed, 
and the sun shone with a brightness undimmed 
by a single vapor. Nothing overhead gave traces 
of the recent storm ; but on looking from my 
window I beheld sad ravage among the shrubs 
and flowers ; the garden- walks had formed the 
channels for little torrents ; trees were lopped of 
their branches, and a small silver stream which 
wound through the park, and ran at the bottom 
of the lawn, had swelled into a turbid, yellow 
sheet of water. 

In an establishment like this, where the man- 
sion is vast, ancient, and somewhat afllicted with 



416 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

the iiifij-mities of age, and where there are nu- 
merous and extensive dependencies, a storm is an 
event of a very grave nature, and brings in its 
train a multiplicity of cares and disasters. 

While the Squire was taking his breakfast in 
the great hall, he was continually interrupted by 
bearers of ill tidhigs from some part or other of 
his domains ; he appeared to me like the com- 
mander of a besieged city, after some grand as- 
sault, receiving at his headquarters reports of 
damages sustained in the various quarters of the 
place. At one time the housekeeper brought him 
mtelligence of a chimney blown down, and a des- 
perate leak sprung in the roof over the picture- 
gallery, which threatened to obliterate a whole 
generation of his ancestors. Then the steward 
came in with a doleful story of the mischief done 
in the woodlands ; while the gamekeeper be- 
moaned the loss of one of his finest bucks, whose 
bloated carcass was seen floating along the swol- 
len current of the river. 

When the Squire issued forth, he was accosted, 
before the door, by the old, paralytic gardener, 
with a face full of trouble, reporting, as I sup- 
posed, the devastation of his flower-beds, and the 
destruction of his wall-fruit. I remarked, how- 
ever, that his intelligence caused a peculiar ex- 
pression of concern not only with the Squire and 
Master Simon, but with the fair Julia and Lady 
Lillycraft, who happened to be present. From a 
few words which reached my ear, I found there 
was some tale of domestic calamity in the case, 
and that some unfortunate family had been ran- 



FAMILY MTSFORTUxVES, 4V 

dered houseless by the storm. Many ejaculations 
of pity broke from the ladies ; I heard the ex- 
pressions of " poor helpless beings," and " unfortu 
nate little creatures," several times repeated ; ta 
which the old gardener replied by very melan> 
choly shakes of the head. 

I felt so interested, that I could not help call- 
ing to the gardener, as he was retiring, and ask- 
ing what unfortunate family it was that had suf- 
fered so severely. The old man touched his hat, 
and gazed at me for an instant, as if hardly com- 
prehending my question. " Family ! " replied he 
" there be no family in the case, your honor ; but 
nere have been sad mischief done in the rook- 
ery ! " 

I had noticed the day before that the high and 
gusty winds had occasioned great disquiet among 
these airy householders ; their nests being all 
filled with young, who were in danger of being 
tilted out of their tree-rocked cradles. Indeed, 
the old birds themselves seemed to have hard 
work to maintain a foothold ; some kept hovering 
and cawing in the air; or if they ventured to 
alight, had to hold fast, flap their wings, and 
spread their tails, and thus remain see-sawing ou 
the topmost twigs. 

In the course of the night, however, an awful 
calamity had taken place in this most sage and 
politic community. There was a great tree, the 
tallest in the grove, which seemed to have been 
the kind of court -end of the metropolis, and 
crowded with the residences of those whom Mas- 
ter Simon considers the nobility and gentry. A 
27 



418 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

decayed limb of this tree had given way with 
the violence of the storm, and came down with 
all its air-castles. 

One should be well aware of the humors of the 
good Squire and his household, to understand the 
general concern expressed at this disaster. It 
was quite a public calamity in this rural empire, 
and all seemed to feel for the poor rooks as for 
fellow-citizens in distress. 

The ground had been strewed with the callow 
young, which were now cherished in the aprons 
and bosoms of the maid-servants, and the little 
ladies of the family. I was pleased with this 
touch of nature, this feminine sympathy in the 
sufferings of the offspring, and the maternal anxi- 
ety of the parent birds. 

It was interesting, too, to witness the general 
agitation and distress prevalent throughout the 
feathered community ; the common cause that was 
made of it ; and the incessant hovering, and flut- 
tering, and lamenting, in the whole rookery. 
There is a chord of sympathy that runs through 
the whole feathered race as to any misfortunes of 
the young ; and the cries of a wounded bird in 
the breeding season will throw a whole grove in 
a flutter and an alarm. Indeed, why should I 
confine it to the feathered tribe ? Nature has im- 
planted an exquisite sympathy on this subject, 
which extends through all her works. It is an 
uivariable attribute of the female heart to melt 
at the cry of early helplessness, and to take an 
instinctive interest in the distresses of the parent 
and its young. On the present occasion the la 



FAMILY MISFORTUNES. 



419 



dies of the family were full of pity and commis 
eration ; and I shall never forget the look that 
Lady Lillycraft gave the general, on his observ- 
ing that the young birds would make an excel 
lent curry, or an especial good rook-pie. 



LOVERS* TROUBLES. 

The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree, 

Sing all a green willow ; 
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 

Sing willow, willow, willow: 
Sing all a green willow must be my garland. 

Old Sonq 




11 HE fair Julia having nearly recovered 
from the effects of her hawking disaster, 
it begins to be thought high time to ap- 
point a day for the wedding. As every domestic 
event in a venerable and aristocratic family con- 
nection like this is a matter of moment, the fixing 
upon this important day has, of course, given rise 
to much conference and debate. 

Some slight difficulties and demurs have lately 
sprung up, originating in the peculiar humors prev- 
alent at the Hall. Thus, I have overheard a 
very solemn consultation between Lady Lilly craft, 
the parson, and Master Simon, as to whether the 
marriage ought not to be postponed until the 
coming month. 

With all the charms of the flowery month of 
May, there is, I find, an ancient prejudice against 
it as a marrying month. An old proverb says, 
" To wed in May is to wed poverty." Now, as 
Lady Lillycraft is very much given to believe in 



L OVERS' TROUBLES. 421 

lucky and unlucky times and seasons, and indeed 
is very superstitious on all points relating to the 
tender passion, this old proverb has taken great 
hold upon her mind. She recollects two or three 
instances in her own knowledge of matches that 
took place in this month, and proved very unfor- 
tunate. Indeed, an own cousin of hers, who 
married on a May-day, lost her husband by a fall 
from his horse, after they had lived happily to- 
gether for twenty years. 

The parson appeared to give great weight to 
her ladyship's objections, and acknowledged the 
existence of a prejudice of the kind, not merely 
confined to modern times, but prevalent likewise 
among the ancients. In confirmation of this he 
quoted a passage from Ovid, which had a great 
effect on Lady Lillycraft, being given in a lan- 
guage which she did not understand. Even Mas- 
ter Simon was staggered by it; for he listened 
with a puzzled air ; and then, shaking his head, 
sagaciously observed, that Ovid was certainly a 
very wise man. 

From this sage conference I likewise gathered 
several other important pieces of inforuiation rel- 
ative to weddings ; such as that, if two w«re cele- 
brated in the same church, on the same 'iay, the 
first would be happy, the second unto^-tunate. 
If, on going to church, the bridal party should 
meet the funeral of a female, it was an om*»-n that 
the bride would die first ; if of a male, the bride- 
groom. If the newly married couple wer^ to 
dance together on their wedding-day, the wife 
W'ould thenceforth rule the roast ; with many other 



422 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

curious and unquestionable facts of the same na- 
ture : all which made me ponder more than ever 
upon the perils which surround this happy state, 
and the thoughtless ignorance of mortals as to the 
awful risk they run in venturing upon it. I ab- 
stain, however, from enlarging upon this topic, 
having no inclination to promote the increase of 
bachelors. 

Notwithstanding the due weight which the 
Squire gives to traditional saws and ancient opin- 
ions, I am happy to find that he makes a firm 
stand for the credit of this loving month, and 
brings to his aid a whole legion of poetical au- 
thorities ; all which, I presume, have been conclu- 
sive with the young couple, as I understand they 
are perfectly willing to marry in May, and abide 
the consequences. In a few days, therefore, the 
wedding is to take place, and the Hall is in a buzz 
of anticipation. The housekeeper is bustling about 
from morning till night, with a look full of busi- 
ness and importance, having a thousand arrange- 
ments to make, the Squire intending to keep open 
house on the occasion; and as to the housemaids, 
you cannot look one of them in the face, but the 
rogue begins to color up and simper. 

While, however, this leading love - affair is 
going on with a tranquillity quite inconsistent 
with the rules of romance, I cannot say that the 
underplots are equally propitious. The '^ opening 
bud of love " between the general and Lady 
Lilly craft seems to have experienced some blight 
in the couree of this genial season. I do not 
think the general has ever been able to retrieve 



LOVERS' TROUBLES. 423 

the ground he lost, when he fell asleep during the 
captain's story. Indeed, Master Simon thinks 
his case is completely desperate, her ladyship hav- 
ing determined that he is quite destitute of sen- 
timent. 

The season has been equally unpropitious to 
the lovelorn Phoebe Wilkins. I fear the reader 
will be impatient at having this humble amour 
so often alluded to ; but I confess I am apt to 
take a great interest in the love-troubles of sim- 
ple girls of this class. Few people have an idea 
of the world of care and perplexity these poor 
damsels have in managing the affairs of the heart. 

We talk and write about the tender passion ; 
we give it all the colorings of sentiment and ro- 
mance, and lay the scene of its influence in high 
life ; but, after all, I doubt whether its sway is 
not more absolute among females of an humbler 
sphere. How often, could we but look into the 
heart, should we find the sentiment throbbing in 
all its violence, in the bosom of the poor lady's- 
maid, rather than in that of the brilliant beauty 
she is decking out for conquest ; whose brain is 
probably bewildered with beaux, ball-rooms, and 
wax-light chandeliers. 

With these humble beings love is an honest, 
engrossing concern. They have no ideas of set- 
tlements, establishments, equipages, and pin-money. 
The heart — the heart is all-in-all with them, poor 
things ! There is seldom one of them but has 
her love-cares, and love-secrets ; her doubts, and 
hopes, and fears, are equal to those of any hero- 
uie of romance, and ten times as sincere. And 



424 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

then, too, there is her secret hoard of love-docu 
ments ; — the broken sixpence, the gilded brooch^ 
the lock of hair, the unintelligible love-scrawl, 
all treasured up in her box of Sunday finery, for 
private contemplation. 

How many crosses and trials is she exposed to 
from some lynx-eyed dame, or staid old vestal 
of a mistress, who keeps a dragon watch over 
her vij-tue, and scouts the lover from the door. 
But then, how sweet are the little love-scenes, 
snatched at distant intervals of holiday, and 
fondly dwelt on through many a long day of 
household labor and confinement ! If in the 
country — it is the dance at the fair or wake, the 
interview in the church-yard after service, or the 
evening stroll in the green lane. If in town, it 
is perhaps merely a stolen moment of delicious 
talk between the bars of the area, fearful every 
instant of being seen ; and then, how lightly will 
the simple creature carol all day afterwards at 
her labor ! 

Poor baggage ! after all her crosses and diffi 
culties, when she marries, what is it but to ex 
change a life of comparative ease and comfort 
for one of toil and uncertainty? Perhaps, too, 
the lover for whom in the fondness of her nature 
she has committed herself to fortune's freaks, turns 
out a worthless churl, the dissolute, hard-hearted 
husband of low life ; who, taking to the ale-house, 
leaves her to a cheerless home, to labor, penury 
and child bearing. 

When I see poor Phoebe going about with 
drooping eye, and her head hanging ' all o' one 



LOVERS' TROUBLES. 425 

side," I cannot help calling to mind the pathetic 
little picture drawn by Desdemona : — 

" My mother had a maid called Barbara ; 
She was in love ; and he she loved proved mad, 
And did forsake her ; she had a song of willow. 
An old thing 'twas; but it expressed her fortune, 
And she died singing it.'* 

I hope, however, that a better lot is in reserve 
for Phoebe Wilkins, and that she may yet " rul^ 
the roast " in the ancient empire of the Tibbetses ! 
She is not fit to battle with hard hearts or harcJ 
times. She was, I am told, the pet of her pooi 
mother, who was proud of the beauty of her child, 
and brought her up more tenderly than a village? 
girl ought to be ; and ever since she has been left 
an orphan, the good ladies of the Hall have com* 
pleted the softening and spoiling of her. 

I have recently observed her holding long con« 
ferences in the church-yard, and up and down one 
of the lanes near the village, with Slingsby the 
schoolmaster. I at first thought the pedagogue 
might be touched with the tender malady so prev- 
alent in these parts of late ; but I did him in- 
justice. Honest Slingsby, it seems, was a friend 
and crony of her late father, the parish clerk ; 
and is on intimate terms with the Tibbets family : 
prompted, therefore, by his good-will towards all 
parties, and secretly instigated, perhaps, by the 
managing dame Tibbets, he has undertaken to 
talk with Phoebe upon the subject. He gives 
her, however, but little encouragement. Slingsby 
has a formidable opinion of the (iristocratical feel- 
big of old Ready-Money and thinks, if Phoebe 



426 BRACEBUIDGE HALL. 

were even to make the matter up with the son, 
she would find the father totally hostile to the 
match. The poor damsel, therefore, is reduced 
almost to despair ; and Slingsby, who is too good- 
natured not to sympathize in her distress, has 
advised her to give up all thoughts of young Jack, 
and has proposed as a substitute his learmd 
coadjutor, the prodigal son. He has even, in 
the fulness of his heart, offered to give up the 
school-house to them ; though it would leave him 
once more adrift in the wide world. 




THE HISTORIAN. 

Hermione, Pray you sit by us, 

And tell 's a tale. 

Mamilius. Merry or sad shall 't be ? 

Hermione. As merry as you will. 

Mamilius. A sad tale 's best for winter. 

I haye one of sprites and goblins. 

Hermione, Let 's haye that, sir. 

Winter's Talk 




i S this is a story-telling age, I have been 
tempted occasionally to give the reader 
II one of the many tales served up with 
supper at the Hall. I might, indeed, have fur- 
nished a series almost equal in number to the 
"Arabian Nights" ; but some were rather hackneyed 
and tedious ; others I did not feel warranted in 
betraying into print ; and many more were of the 
old general's relating, and turned principally upon 
tiger-hunting, elephant-riding, and Seringapatam, 
enlivened by the wonderful deeds of Tippoo Saib, 
and the excellent jokes of Major Pendergast. 

I had all along maintained a quiet post at a 
corner of the table, where I had been able to in- 
dulge my humor undisturbed ; listening atten- 
tively when the story was very good, and dozing 
a little when it was rather dull, which I consider 
the perfection of auditorship. 



428 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

I was roused the other evening from a slight 
trance, into which I had fallen during one of the 
general's histories, by a sudden call from the 
Squire to furnish some entertainment of the kind 
in my turn. Having been so profound a listener 
to others, I could not in conscience refuse ; but 
neither my memory nor invention being ready to 
answer so unexpected a demand, I begged leave 
to read a manuscript tale from the pen of my fel- 
low-countryman, the late Mr. Diedrich Knicker- 
bocker, the historian of New York. As this 
ancient chronicler may not be better known to my 
readers than he was to the company at the Hall, 
a word or two concerning him may not be amisft, 
before proceeding to his manuscript. 

Diedrich Knickerbocker was a native of New 
Y ork, a descendant from one of the ancient Dutch 
families which originally settled that province, 
and remained there after it was taken possession 
of by the English in 1664. The descendants of 
these Dutch families still remain in villages and 
neighborhoods in various parts of the country, re- 
taining, with singular obstinacy, the dresses, man- 
ners, and even language of their ancestors, and 
forming a very distinct and curious feature in the 
motley population of the State. In a hamlet 
whose spire may be seen from New York, rising 
from above the brow of a hill on the opposite side 
of the Hudson, many of the old folks, even at the 
present day, speak English with an accent, and 
the Dominie preaches in Dutch ; and so completely 
IS the hereditary love of quiet and silence mam- 
tained, that in one of these drowsy villages, \ti ihQ 



THE HISTORIAN. 429 

middle of a warm summer's day, the buzzing of 
a stout blue-bottle fly will resound from one end 
of the place to the other. 

With the laudable hereditary feeling thus kep» 
up among these worthy people, did Mr. Knicker- 
bocker undertake to write a history of his native 
city, comprising the reign of its three Dutch gov- 
ernors during the time that it was yet under the 
domination of the Hogenmogens of Holland. In 
the execution of this design the little Dutchman 
has displayed great historical research, and a won- 
derful consciousness of the dignity of his subject. 
His work, however, has been so little understood 
as to be pronounced a mere work of humor, sat- 
irizing the foUies of the times, both in politics and 
morals, and giving whimsical views of human na- 
ture. 

Be this as it may : — among the papers left be- 
hind him were several tale's of a lighter nature, 
apparently thrown together fiom materials gath- 
ered during his profound researches for his history, 
and which he seems to have cast by with neglect, 
as unworthy of publication. Some of these have 
fallen into my hands by an accident which it is 
needless at present to mention ; and one of these 
very stories, with its prelude in the words of Mr. 
Knickerbocker, I undertook to read, by way of 
acquitting myself of the debt which I owed to the 
otlier story-tellers at the Hall. I subjoin it for 
Buch of my readers as are fond of stories. 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

FROM THE MSS. OP THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKER- 
BOCKER. 

Formerly almost erery place had a house of this kind. If a house 
iras seated on some melancholy place, or built in some old romantic 
manner, or if any particular accident had happened in it, such as 
murder, sudden death, or the like, to be sure that house had a mark 
set on it, and was afterwards esteemed the habitation of a ghost. — 
Bourne's AxNTiquities. 




N the neighborhood of the ancient city 
of the Manhattoes there stood, not very 
many years since, an old mansion, which, 
when I was a boy, went by the name of the 
Haunted House. It was one of the very few 
remains of the architecture of the early Dutch 
settlers, and must have been a house of some 
consequence at the time when it was built. It 
consisted of a centre and two wings, the gable 
ends of which were shaped like stairs. It was 
built partly of wood, and partly of small Dutch 
bricks, such as the worthy colonists brought with 
them from Holland, before they discovered that 
bricks could be manufactured elsewhere. The 
house stood remote from the road, in the centre 
of a large field, with an avenue of old locust * 
trees leading up to it, several of which had been 
* Acacias. 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 431 

shivered by lightning, and two or three blown 
down. A few apple-trees grew straggling about 
the field ; there were traces also of what had been 
a kitchen-garden ; but the fences were broken 
down, the vegetables had disappeared, or had 
grown wild, and turned to little better than weeds, 
with here and there a ragged rose-bush, or a tall 
sunflower shooting up from among the brambles, 
and hanging its head sorrowfully, as if contem- 
plating the surrounding desolation. Part of the 
roof of the old house had fallen in, the windows 
were shattered, the panels of the doors broken, 
and mended with rough boards, and two rusty 
weather-cocks at the ends of the house made a 
great jingling and whistling as they whirled about, 
but always pointed wrong. The appearance of 
the whole place was forlorn and desolate at the 
best of times ; but, in unruly weather, the howl- 
ing of the wind about the crazy old mansion, the 
screeching of the weather-cocks, and the slamming 
and banging of a few loose window-shutters, had 
altogether so wild and dreary an effect, that the 
neighborhood stood perfectly in awe of the place, 
and pronounced it the rendezvous of hobgoblins. 
I recollect the old building well ; for many times, 
when an idle, unlucky urchin, I have prowled 
round its precinct, with some of my graceless com- 
panions, on holiday afternoons, when out on a 
freebooting cruise among the orchards. There 
was a tree standing near the house that bore the 
most beautiful and tempting fruit ; but then it 
was on enchanted ground, for the place was so 
charmed by frightful stories that we dreaded to 



432 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

approach it. Sometimes we would venture in a 
body, and get near the Hesperian tree, keeping 
an eye upon the old mansion, and darting fearful 
glances into its shattered windows, when, just as 
we were about to seize upon our prize, an excla- 
mation from some one of the gang, or an acciden- 
tal noise, would throw us all into a panic, and 
we would scamper headlong from the place, nor 
stop until we had got quite into the road. Then 
there were sure to be a host of fearful anecdotes 
told of strange cries and groans, or of some hid- 
eous face suddenly seen staring out of one of the 
windows. By degrees we ceased to venture into 
these lonely grounds, but would stand at a dis- 
tance, and throw stones at the building ; and 
there was something fearfully pleasing in the 
sound as they rattled along the roof, or sometimes 
struck some jingling fragments of glass out cf the 
windows. 

The origin of this house was lost in the obscu- 
rity that covers the early period of the province, 
while under the government of their high mighti- 
nesses the states-general. Some reported it to have 
been a country residence of Wilhelmus Kieft, com- 
monly called the Testy, one of the Dutch govern- 
ors of New Amsterdam ; others said it had been 
built by a naval commander who served under Van 
Tromp, and who, on being disappointed of prefer- 
ment, retired from the service in disgust, became 
a philosopher through sheer spite, and brought 
over all his wealth to the province, that he might 
live according to his humor, and despise the world. 
The reason of its having fallen to decay was like- 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE, 433 

wise a matter of dispute ; some said it was in 
chancery, and had already cost more than its 
worth in legal expense ; bat the most current, 
and, of course, the most probable account, was 
that it was haunted, and that nobody could live 
quietly in it. There can, in fact, be very little 
doubt that this last was the case, there were 
&o many corroborating stories to prove it, — not 
an old woman in the neighborhood but could fur- 
nish at least a score. A grayheaded curmudgeon 
of a negro who lived hard by had a whole bud- 
get of them to tell, many of which had happened 
to himself. I recollect many a time stopping with 
my schoolmates, and getting him to relate some. 
The old crone lived in a hovel, in the midst of a 
small patch of potatoes and Indian corn, which 
his master had given him on setting him free. He 
would come to us, with his hoe in his hand, and 
as we sat perched, like a row of swallows, on the 
rail of a fence, ir the mellow twilight of a sum- 
mer evening, would tell us such fearful stories, ac- 
companied by such awful rollings of his white 
eyes, that we were almost afraid of our own foot- 
steps as we returned home afterwards in the dark. 
Poor old Pompey ! many years a/e past since 
he died, and went to keep company with the ghosts 
he was so fond of talking about. He was buried 
in a corner of his own little potato patch ; the 
plough soon passed over his grave, and levelled it 
with the rest of the field, and nobody thought 
any more of the grayheaded negro. By singular 
chance I was strolling in that neighborhood, sev' 
eral years afterwards, when I had grown up tc 
28 



4J54 BRACEBR2DGE HALL. 

be a young man, and I found a knot of gossips 
speculating on a skull which had just been turned 
up a by ploughshare. They of course determined 
it to be the remains of some one who had been 
murdered, and they had raked up with it some 
of the traditionary tales of the haunted house. I 
knew it at once to be the relic of poor Pompey, 
but I held my tongue ; for I am too considerate 
of other people's enjoyment even to mar a story 
of a ghost or a murder. I took care, however, 
to see the bones of my old friend once more bur- 
ied in a place where they were not likely to be 
disturbed. As I sat on the turf and watched the 
interment, I fell into a long conversation with an 
old gentleman of the neighborhood, John Josse 
Vandermoere, a pleasant gossiping man, whose 
whole life was spent in hearing and telling the 
news of the province. He recollected old Pom- 
pey, and his stories about the Haunted House; 
but he assured me he could give me one still more 
strange than any that Pompey had related; and 
on my expressing a great curiosity to hear it, he 
sat down beside me on the turf, and told the fol- 
lowing tale. I have endeavored to give it as 
nearly as possible in his words; but it is now 
many years since, and I am grown old, and my 
memory is not over-good. I cannot therefore 
vouch for the language, but I am always scrupu- 
lous as to facts. D K. 




DOLPH HEYLIGER. 

'* I take the town of concord, where I dwell, 
All Kilborn b« my witness, if I were not 
Begot in bashfulness, brought up in shamefacedness. 
Let 'un bring a dog but to my vace that can 
Zay I have beat 'un, and without a vault ; 
Or but a cat will swear upon a book, 
I have as much as zet a vire her tail, 
And I '11 give him or her a crown for 'mends." 

Tale of a Tub. 

|N the early time of the province of Ne\v 
York, while it gi*oaned under the tyr- 
anny of the English governor, Lord 
Cornbury, who carried his cruelties towards the 
Dutch inhabitants so far as to allow no Dominie, 
or schoolmaster, to officiate in their language 
without his special license ; about this time there 
lived in the jolly little old city of the Manhattoes a 
kind motherly dame, known by the name of Dame 
Ileyliger. She was the widow of a Dutch sea- 
captain, who died suddenly of a fever, in conse- 
quence of working too hard, and eating too heart- 
ily, at the time when all the inhabitants turned 
out in a panic, to fortify the place against the in- 
vasion of a small French privateer.* He left 
her with very liUle money, and one infant son 
* 1705. 



436 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

the only survivor of several children. The good 
woman had need of much management to make 
both ends meet, and keep up a decent appearance. 
However, as her husband had fallen a victim to 
his zeal for the public safety, it was universally 
agreed that " something ought to be done for the 
widow " ; and on the hopes of this " something " 
she lived tolerably for some years ; in the mean 
time everybody pitied and spoke well of her, 
and that helped along. 

She lived in a small house, in a small street, 
called Garden Street, very probably from a gar- 
den which may have flourished there some time 
or other. As her necessities every year grew 
greater, and the talk of the public about doing 
" something for her " grew less, she had to cast 
about for some mode of doing something for her- 
self, by way of helping out her slender means, 
and maintaining her independence, of which she 
was somewhat tenacious. 

Living in a mercantile town, she had caught 
something of the spirit, and determined to ven- 
ture a little in the great lottery of commerce. 
On a sudden, therefore, to the great surprise of 
the street, there appeared at her window a grand 
array of gingerbread kings and queens, with their 
arms stuck akimbo, after the invariable royal 
manner. There were also several broken tum- 
blers, some filled with sugar-plums, some with mar- 
bles ; there were, moreover, cakes of various 
kinds, and barley-sugar, and Holland dolls, and 
wooden horses, with here and there gilt-covered 
picture-books, and now and then a skein of thread, 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 437 

or a dangling pound of candles. At the door of 
the house sat the good old dame's cat, a decent 
demure-looking personage, who seemed to scan 
everybody that passed, to criticize their dress, 
and noAV and then to stretch her neck, and to look 
out with sudden curiosity, to see what was going 
on at the other end of the street ; but if by chance 
any idle vagabond dog came by, and offered to be 
uncivil — hoity-toity ! — how she would bristle 
up, and growl, and spit, and strike out her paws ! 
she was as indignant as ever was an ancient and 
ugly spinster on the approach of some graceless 
profligate. 

But though the good woman had to come down 
to those humble means of subsistence, yet she 
still kept up a feeling of family pride, being de- 
scended from the Vanderspiegels, of Amsterdam ; 
and she had the family arms painted and framed, 
and hung over her mantelpiece. She was, in 
truth, much respected by all the poorer people of 
the place ; her house was quite a resort of the 
old wives of the neighborhood ; they would drop 
in there of a winter's afternoon, as she sat knit- 
ting on one side of her fireplace, her cat purring 
on the other, and the tea-kettle singing before it ; 
and they would gossip with her until late in the 
evening. There was always an arm-chair for 
Peter de Groodt, sometimes called Long Peter, 
and sometimes Peter Longlegs, the clerk and sex- 
ton of the little Lutheran church, who was her 
great crony, and indeed the oracle of her fireside. 
Nay, the Dominie himself did not disdain, now 
and then, to step in, converse about the state of 



438 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

her mind, and take a glass of her special good 
cherry-brandy. Indeed, he never failed to call 
on New- Year s day, and wish her a happy New 
Year; and the good dame, who was a little vain 
on some points, always piqued herself on giving 
him as large a cake as any one in town. 

I have said that she had one son. He was the 
child of her old age ; but could hardly be called 
the comfort, for, of all unlucky urchins, Dolph 
Heyliger was the most mischievous. Not that 
the whipster was really vicious ; he was only full 
of fun and frolic, and had that daring, gamesome 
spirit which is extolled in a rich man's child, but 
execrated in a poor man's. He was continually 
getting into scrapes ; his mother was incessantly 
harassed with complaints of some waggish pranks 
which he had played off ; bills were sent in for win- 
dows that he had broken ; in a word, he had not 
reached his fourteenth year before he was pro- 
nounced, by all the neighborhood, to be a " wicked 
dog, the wickedest dog in the street ! " Nay, one 
old gentleman, in a claret-colored coat, with a 
thin red face, and ferret eyes, went so far as to 
assure Dame Heyliger, that her son would, one 
day or other, come to the gallows ! 

Yet, notwithstanding all this, the poor old soul 
loved her boy. It seemed as though she loved 
him the better the worse he behaved, and that 
he grew more in her favor the more he grew 
out of favor with the world. Mothers are foolish, 
fond-hearted beings ; there 's no reasoning them 
out of their dotage ; and, indeed, this poor wom- 
an's child was all that was left to love her in 



jyOLPH HEYLIGER. 439 

this world ; — so we must not think it hard that 
she turned a deaf ear to her good friends, who 
sought to prove to her that Dolph would come to 
a halter. 

To do the varlet justice^ too, he was strongly 
attached to his parent. He would not willingly 
have given her pain on any account ; and when 
he had been doing wrong, it was but for hiin to 
catch his poor mother's eye fixed wistfully and 
sorrowfully upon him, to fill his heart with bit- 
terness and contrition. But he was a heedless 
youngster, and could not, for the life of him, re- 
sist any new temptation to fun and mischief. 
Though quick at his learning, whenever he could 
be brought to apply himself, he was always prone 
to be led away by idle company, and would play 
truant to hunt after birds'-nests, to rob orchards, 
or to swim in the Hudson. 

In this way he grew up, a tall, lubberly boy ; 
and his mother began to be greatly perplexed 
what to do with him, or how to put him in a way 
to do for himself ; for he had acquired such an 
unlucky reputation, that no one seemed willing 
to employ him. 

Many were the consultations that she held with 
Peter de Groodt, the clerk and sexton, who was 
her prime counsellor. Peter was as much per- 
plexed as herself, for he had no great opinion of 
the boy, and thought he would never come to 
good. He at orce advised her to send him to 
eea : a piece of advice only given in the most 
desperate cases ; but Dame Heyliger would not 
listen to such an idea; she could not think of 



440 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

letting Dolph go out of her sight. She was sit 
ting one day knitting by her fireside, in great 
perplexity, when the sexton entered with an air 
of unusual vivacity and briskness. He had just 
come from a funeral. It had been that of a boy 
of Dolph's years, who had been apprentice to a 
famous German doctor, and had died of a con- 
sumption. It is true, there had been a whisper 
that the deceased had been brought to his end by 
being made the subject of the doctor's experi- 
ments, on which he was apt to try the effects of 
a new compound, or a quieting draught. This, 
however, it is likely, was a mere scandal ; at any 
rate, Peter de Groodt did not think it worth men- 
tioning ; though, had we time to philosophize, it 
would be a curious matter for speculation, why a 
doctor's family is apt to be so lean and cadaver- 
ous, and a butcher's so jolly and rubicund. 

Peter de Groodt, as I said before, entered the 
house of Dame Heyliger with unusual alacrity. 
A bright idea had popped into his head at the 
funeral, over which he had chuckled as he shov- 
elled the earth into the grave of the doctor's dis- 
ciple. It had occurred to him, that, as the sit- 
uation of the deceased was vacant at the doctor's, 
it would be the very place for Dolph. The boy 
had parts, and could pound a pestle, and run an 
errand with any boy in the town ; and what more 
was wanted in a student ? 

The suggestion of the sage Peter was a vision 
of glory to the mother. She already saw Dolph, 
in her mind's eye, with a cane at his nose, a 
knocker at his door, and an M. D. ai the end of 



DOLPH HEYLIGER, 441 

his name, — one of the established digaitaries of 
the town. 

The matter, once undertaken, was soon effected : 
the sexton had some influence with the doctor, 
they having had much dealing together in the 
way of their separate professions ; and the very 
next morning he called and conducted the urchin, 
clad in his Sunday clothes, to undergo the inspec- 
tion of Dr. Karl Lodovick Knipperhausen. 

They found the doctor seated in an elbow-chair, 
in one corner of his study, or laboratory, with a 
large volume, in German print, before him. He 
was a short fat man, with a dark square face, 
rendered more dark by a black velvet cap. He 
had a little nobbed nose, not unlike the ace of 
spades, with a pair of spectacles gleaming on each 
side of his dusky countenance, like a couple of 
bow-windows. 

Dolph felt struck with awe on entering into 
the presence of this learned man ; and gazed about 
him with boyish wonder at the furniture of this 
chamber of knowledge ; which appeared to him 
almost as the den of a magician. In the centre 
stood a claw-footed table, with pestle and mortar, 
phials and gallipots, and a pair of small burnished 
scales. At one end was a heavy clothes-press, 
turned into a receptacle for drugs and compounds ; 
against which hung the doctor's hat and cloak, 
and gold-headed cane, and on the top grinned a 
human skull. Along the mantelpiece were glass 
vessels, in which were snakes and lizards, and a 
human fjetus preserved in spirits. A closet, the 
Joors of which were taken off, contained three 



442 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

whole shelves of books, and some, too, of mighty 
folio dimensions, — a collection the like of which 
Dolph had never before beheld. As, however, 
the library did not take up the whole of the closet, 
the doctor's thrifty housekeeper had occupied the 
rest with pots of pickles and preserves ; and had 
hung about the room, among awful implements 
of the healing art, strings of red pepper and cor- 
pulent cucumbers, carefully preserved for seed. 

Peter de Groodt and his protege were received 
with great gravity and stateliness by the doctor, 
who was a very wise, dignified little man, and 
never smiled. He surveyed Dolph from head to 
foot, above, and under, and through his spectacles, 
and the poor lad's heart quailed as these great 
glasses glared on him like two full moons. The 
doctor heard all that Peter de Groodt had to say 
in favor of the youthful candidate ; and then wet- 
ting his thumb with the end of his tongue, he be- 
gan deliberately to turn over page after page of 
the great black volume before Kim. At length, 
after many hums and haws, and strokings of the 
chin, and all that hesitation and deliberation with 
which a wise man proceeds to do what he in- 
tended to do from the very first, the doctor agreed 
to take the lad as a disciple ; to give him bed, 
board, and clothing, and to instruct him in the 
healing art ; in return for which he was to have 
his services until his twenty-first year. 

Behold, then, our hero, all at once transformed 
from an unlucky urchin running wild about the 
streets, to a student of medicine, diligently pound- 
ing a pestle, under the auspices of the learned 



DOLPE HEYLIGLR, 443 

Doctor Karl Lodovick Knipperhausen. It was a 
happy transition for his fond old mother. She 
was delighted with the idea of her boy's being 
brought up worthy of his ancestors ; and antici- 
pated the day when he would be able to hold up 
his head with the lawyer, that lived in the large 
house opposite ; or, peradventure, with the Domi- 
aie himself. 

Doctor Knipperhausen was a native of the 
Palatinate in Germany ; whence, in company 
with many of his countrymen, he had taken ref- 
uge in England, on account of religious persecu- 
tion. He was one of nearly three thousand Pal- 
atines, who came over from England in 1710, 
under the protection of Governor Hunter. Where 
the doctor had studied, how he had acquired his 
medical knowledge, and where he had received 
his diploma, it is hard at present to say, for no- 
body knew at the time ; yet it is certain that his 
profound skill and abstruse knowledge were the 
talk and wonder of the common people, far and 
near. 

His practice was totally different from that of 
any other physician, — consisting in mysterious 
compounds, known only to himself, in the prepar- 
ing and administering of which, it was said, he 
always consulted the stars. So high an opinion 
was entertained of his skill, particularly by the 
German and Dutch inhabitants, that they al- 
ways resorted to him in desperate cases. He 
was one of those infallible doctors that are al- 
ways effecting sudden and surprising cures, when 
the patient has been given up by all the regular 



444 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

physicians ; unless, as is shrewdly observed, the 
case has been left too long before it was put into 
their hands. The doctor's library was the talk 
and marvel of the neighborhood, I might almost 
say of the entire burgh. The good people looked 
with reverence at a man who had read three 
whole shelves full of books, and some of them, 
too, as large as a family Bible. There were 
many disputes among the members of the little 
Lutheran church, as to which was the wisest man, 
the doctor or the Dominie. Some of his admir- 
ers even went so far as to say, that he knew more 
than the governor himself, — in a word, it was 
thought that there was no end to his knowledge ! 

No sooner was Dolph received into the doctor's 
family, than he was put in possession of the lodg- 
ing of his predecessor. It was a garret-room of 
a steep-roofed Dutch house, where the rain had 
pattered on the shingles, and the lightning gleamed, 
and the wind piped through the crannies in 
stormy weather ; and where whole troops of hun- 
gry rats, like Don Cossacks, galloped about, in 
defiance of traps and ratsbane. 

He was soon up to his ears in medical studies, 
being employed, morning, noon, and night, in roll- 
ing pills, filtering tinctures, or pounding the pestle 
and mortar in one corner of the laboratory ; while 
the doctor would take his seat in another corner, 
when he had nothing else to do, or expected vis- 
itors, and arrayed in his morning-gown and vel- 
vet cap, would pore over the contents of some 
folio volume. It is true, that the regular thump- 
ing of Dolph's pestle, or, perhaps, the drowsy 



DOLPH HETLIGER. 445 

buzzing of the summer-flies, would now and then 
lull the little man into a slumber ; but then his 
spectacles were always wide awake, and studi- 
ously regarding the book. 

There was another personage in the house, 
however, to whom Dolph was obliged to pay al- 
legiance. Though a bachelor, and a man of such 
great dignity and importance, the doctor was, 
like many other wise men, subject to petticoat 
government. He was completely under the sway 
of his housekeeper, — a spare, busy, fretting house- 
wife, in a little, round, quilted German cap, with 
a huge bunch of keys jingling at the girdle of 
an exceedingly long waist. Frau Use (or Frow 
Ilsy, as it was pronounced) had accompanied him 
in his various migrations from Germany to Eng- 
land, and from England to the province ; manag- 
ino^ his establishment and himself too : rulinor 
him, it is true, with a gentle hand, but carrying 
a high hand with all the world beside. How 
she had acquired such ascendency I do not pre- 
tend to say. People, it is true, did talk — but 
have not people been prone to talk ever since the 
world began ? Who can tell how women gener- 
ally contrive to get the upperhand ? A husband, 
it is true, may now and then be master in his 
own house ; but who ever knew a bachelor that 
was not managed by his housekeeper ? 

Indeed, Frau Ilsy's power was not confined to 
the doctor's household. She was one of those 
prying gossips who know every one's business 
better than they do themselves ; and whose all- 
eeeing eyes, and all-telling tongues, are terrors 
Jbroughout a neighborhood. 



446 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

Nothing of any moment transpired in the world 
of scandal of this little burgh, but it was known 
to Frau Ilsj. She had her crew of cronies, that 
were perpetually hurrying to her little parlor 
with some precious bit of news ; nay, she would 
sometimes discuss a whole volume of secret his- 
tory, as she held the street-door ajar, and gossiped 
with one of these garrulous cronies in the very 
teeth of a December blast. 

Between the doctor and the housekeeper it 
may easily be supposed that Dolph had a busy 
life of it. As Frau Ilsy kept the keys, and lit- 
erally ruled the roast, it was starvation to offend 
her, though he found the study of her temper 
more perplexing even than that of medicine. 
When not busy in the laboratory, she kept him 
running hither and thither on her errands ; and 
on Sundays he was obliged to accompany her to 
and from church, and carry her Bible. Many a 
time has the poor varlet stood shivering and 
blowing his fingers, or holding his frost-bitten 
nose, in the church-yard, while Ilsy and her cro- 
nies were huddled together, wagging their heads, 
and tearing some unlucky character to pieces. 

With all his advantages, however, Dolph made 
very slow progress ir. his art. This was no fault 
of the doctor's, certainly, for he took unwearied 
pains with the lad, keeping him close to the pes- 
tle and mortar, or on the trot about town with 
phials and pill-boxes ; and if he ever flagged in 
his industry, which he was rather apt to do, the 
doctor would fly into a passion, and ask him if he 
ever expected to learn his profession, unless he 



DOLPH HEYLTGER. 447 

applied himself closer to the study. The fact is, 
he still retained the fondness for sport and mis- 
chief that had marked his childhood ; the habit, 
indeed, had strengthened with his years, and gained 
force from being thwarted and constrained. He 
daily grew more and more untractable, and lost 
favor in the eyes, both of the doctor and the 
housekeeper. 

In the mean time the doctor went on, waxing 
wealthy and renowned. He was famous for his 
skill in manao;inor cases not laid down in the books. 
He had cured several old women and young girls 
of witchcraft, — a terrible complaint, and nearly 
as prevalent in the province in those days as 
hydrophobia is at present. He had even restored 
one strapping country-girl to perfect health, who 
had gone so far as to vomit crooked pins and 
needles ; which is considered a desperate stage 
of the malady. It was whispered, also, that he 
was possessed of the art of preparing love- 
powders ; and many applications had he in con- 
sequence from love-sick patients of both sexes. 
But all these cases formed the mysterious part of 
his practice, in which, according to the cant 
phrase, " secrecy and honor might be depended 
on." Dolph, therefore, v^as obliged to turn out 
of the study whenever such consultations oc- 
cun-ed, though it is said he learnt more of the 
Becrets of the art at the key-hole than by all the 
rest of his studies put together. 

As the doctor increased in wealth, he began to 
sxtend his possessions, and to look forward, like 
jther great men, to the time v^hen he should 



as BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

retire to the repose of a country-seat. For this 
pur[)ose he had purchased a farm, or, as the 
Dutch settlers called it, a howerie^ a few miles 
from town. It had been the residence of a 
wealthy family, that had returned some time 
since to Holland. A large mansion-house stood 
in the centre of it, very much out of repair, and 
which, in consequence of certain reports, had 
received the appellation of the Haunted House. 
Either from these reports, or from its actual 
dreariness, the doctor found it impossible to get a 
tenant ; and that the place might not fall to ruin 
before he could reside in it himself, he placed a 
country boor, with his family, in one wing, with 
the privilege of cultivating the farm on shares. 

The doctor now felt all the dignity of a land- 
holder rising within him. He had a little of the 
German pride of territory in his composition, and 
almost looked upon himself as owner of a princi- 
pality. He began to complain of the fatigue of 
business ; and was fond of riding out " to look 
at his estate." His little expeditions to his lands 
were attended with a bustle and parade that 
created a sensation throughout the neighborhood. 
His wall-eyed horse stood, stamping and whisk- 
ing off the flies, for a full hour before the house. 
Then the doctor's saddle-bags would be brought 
out and adjusted ; then, after a little while, his 
cloak would be rolled up and strapped to the 
saddle ; then his umbrella would be buckled to 
the cloak ; while, in the mean time, a group of 
ragged boys, that observant class of beings, would 
gather before the door. At length the doctor 



DOLPH EEYLIGER. 449 

would issue forth, in a pair of jack-boots that 
reached above his knees, and a cocked hat flap- 
ped down in front. As he was a short, fat man, 
he took some time to mount into the saddle ; and 
when there, he took some time to have the sad- 
dle and stirrups properly adjusted, enjoying the 
wonder and admiration of the urchin crowd. 
Even after he had set off, he would pause in the 
middle of the street, or trot back two or three 
times to give some parting orders ; which were 
answered by the housekeeper from the door, or 
Dolph from the study, or the black cook from the 
cellar, or the chambermaid from the gar ret- win- 
dow ; and there were generally some last words 
bawled after him, just as he was turning the cor- 
ner. 

The whole neighborhood would be aroused by 
this pc^mp and circumstance. The cobbler would 
leave his last ; the barber would thrust out his 
frizzled head, with a comb sticking in it ; a knot 
would collect at the grocer's door, and the word 
would be buzzed from one end of the street to 
the other, " The doctor 's riding out to his country- 
seat ! " 

These were golden moments for Dolph. No 
sooner was the doctor out of sight, than pestle 
and mortar were abandoned ; the laboratory was 
left to take care of itself, and the student was oti' 
on some madcap frolic. 

Indeed, it must be confessed, the youngster, as 

ho grew up, seemed in a fair way to fulfd the 

prediction of the old claret-colored gentleman. 

H3 was the ringleader of all holiday sports and 

29 



450 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

midnight gambols ; ready for all kinds Df mis 
chievoiis pranks and hair-brained adventure?. 

There is nothing so troublesome as a hero on 
a small scale, or, rather, a hero in a small town. 
Dolph soon became the abhorrence of all drowsy, 
housekeeping old citizens, who hated noise, and 
had no relish for waggery. The good dames, too, 
considered him as little better than a reprobate, 
gathered their daughters under their wings when- 
ever he approached, and pointed him out as a 
warning to their sons. No one seemed to hold 
him in much regard except the wild striplings of 
the place, who were captivated by his open-hearted, 
dai'ing manners, — and the negroes, who always 
look upon every idle, do-nothing youngster as a 
kind of gentleman. Even the good Peter de 
Groodt, who had considered himself a kind of 
patron of the lad, began to despair of him ; and 
would shake his head dubiously, as he listened to 
a long complaint from the housekeeper, and sipped 
a glass of her raspberry brandy. 

Still his mother was not to be wearied out of 
her affection by all the waywardness of her boy ; 
nor disheartened by the stories of his misdeeds, 
'with which her good friends were continually re- 
galing her. She had, it is true, very little of the 
pleasure which rich people enjoy, in always hear- 
ing their children praised ; but she considered all 
this ill-will as a kind of persecution which he 
suffered, and she liked him the better on that ac- 
count. She saw him growing up a fine, tall, good- 
looking youngster, and she looked at him with the 
secret pride of a mother's heart. It was her gi'eat 



DOLPH HEYLTGER 451 

desire that Dolph should appear like a gentleman, 
and ail the money she could save went towards 
helping out his pocket and his wardrobe. She 
would look out of the window after him, as he 
sallied forth in his best array, and her heart 
would yearn with delight ; and once, when Peter 
de Groodt, struck with the youngster's gallant 
appearance on a bright Sunday morning, observed, 
" Well, after all, Dolph does grow a comely fel- 
low ! " the tear of pride started into the mother's 
eye. " Ah, neighbor ! neighbor ! " exclaimed she, 
" they may say what they please ; poor Dolph 
will yet hold up his head with the best of them ! " 

Dolph Heyliger had now nearly attained his 
one-and-twentieth year, and the term of his med- 
ical studies was just expiring; yet it must be 
confessed that he knew little more of the pro- 
fession than when he first entered the doctor's 
doors. This, however, could not be from any 
want of quickness of parts, for he showed amaz- 
ing aptness in mastering other branches of knowl- 
edge, which he could only have studied at inter- 
vals. He was, for instance, a sure marksman, 
and won all the geese and turkeys at Christmas 
holidays. He was a bold rider ; he was famous 
for leaping and wrestling ; he played tolerably on 
the fiddle ; could swim like a fish ; and was the 
best hand in the whole place at fives or ninepins. 

All these accomplishments, however, procured 
him no favor in the eyes of the doctor, who grew 
more and more crabbed and intolerant the nearer 
the term of apprenticeship approached. Frau 
Usy, too, was forever finding some occasion to 



452 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

raise a windy tempest about his ears, and seldom 
encountered him about the house without a clat- 
ter of the tongue ; so that at length the jingling 
of her keys, as she approached, was to Dolph like 
the ringing of the prompter's bell, that gives rotice 
of a theatrical thunder-storm. Nothing but the 
infinite good-humor of the heedless youngster ena- 
bled him to bear all this domestic tyranny without 
open rebellion. It was evident that the doctor 
and his housekeeper were preparing to beat the 
poor youth out of the nest, the moment his terra 
should have expired, — a short-hand mode which 
the doctor had of providing for useless disciples. 

Indeed the little man had been rendered more 
than usually irritable lately in consequence of 
various cares and vexations which his country 
estate had brought upon him. The doctor had 
been repeatedly annoyed by the rumors and tales 
which prevailed concerning the old mansion, and 
found it difficult to prevail even upon the country 
man and his family to remain there rent-free 
Every time he rode out to the farm he was teased 
by some fresh complaint of strange noises and 
fearful sights, with which the tenants were dis- 
turbed at night ; and the doctor would come 
home fretting and fuming, and vent his spleen 
upon the whole household. It was indeed a sore 
grievance that affected him both in pride and 
purse. He was threatened with an absolute loss 
of the profits of his property ; and then, what a 
blow to his territorial consequence, to be the 
landlord of a haunted house ! 

It was oba^.rved, however, that with all his 



DOLPH HEYLIUER. 453 

vexation, the doctor never proposed to sleep in 
the liouse himself; nay, he could never be pre- 
vailed upon to remain on the premises after dark, 
but made the best of his way for town as soon 
as the bats began to flit about in the twilight. 
The fact was, the doctor had a secret belief in 
ghosts, having passed the early part of his life in 
a country where they particularly abound ; and 
indeed the story went, that, when a boy, he had 
once seen the devil upon the Hartz Mountains in 
Germany. 

At length the doctor's vexations on this head 
were brought to a crisis. One morning as he sat 
dozing over a volume in his study, he was sud- 
denly startled from his slumbers by the bustling 
in of the housekeeper. 

" Here 's a fine to do ! " cried she, as she en- 
tered the room. " Here 's Glaus Hopper come in, 
bag and baggage, from the farm, and swears he '11 
have nothing more to do with it. The whole 
family have been frightened out of their wits ; 
for there 's such racketing and rummaging about 
the old house, that they can't sleep quiet in their 
beds ! " 

" Donner and blitzen ! " cried the doctor, im- 
patiently ; " will they never have done chattering 
about that house ? What a pack of fools, to let a 
few rats and mice frighten them out of good 
q[uarters ! " 

" Nay, nay," said the housekeeper, wagging her 
head knowingly, and piqued at having a good 
ghost-story doubted, " there 's more in it than rats 
and mice. All the neiorhborhood talks about the 



154 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

house ; and then such sights as have been seen 
in it ! Peter de Groodt tells me, that the family 
that sold you the house, and went to Holland, 
dropped several strange hints about it, and said, 
' they wished you joy of your bargain ; ' and you 
know yourself there 's no getting any family to 
live in it." 

" Peter de Groodt 's a ninny — an old woman,** 
said the doctor, peevishly ; " I '11 warrant he 's 
been filling these people's heads full of stories. 
It's just like his nonsense about the ghost that 
haunted the church-belfry, as an excuse for net 
ringing the bell that cold night when Harmanus 
Brinkerhoff's house was on fire. Send Glaus to 
me." 

Glaus Hopper now made his appearance : a 
simple country lout, full of awe at finding himself 
in the very study of Dr. Knipperhausen, and too 
much embarrassed to enter in much detail of the 
matters that had caused his alarm. He stood 
twirling his hat in one hand, resting sometimes 
on one leg, sometimes on the other, looking occa- 
sionally at the doctor, and now and then stealing 
a fearful glance at the death's-head that seemed 
ogling him from the top of the clothes-press. 

The doctor tried every means to persuade him 
to return to the farm, but all in vain ; he main- 
tained a dogged determination on the subject ; 
and at the close of every argument or solicitation 
would make the same brief, inflexible reply, " Ich 
kan niclit, mynheer." The doctor was a "little 
pot, and soon hot ; " his patience was exhausted 
by these continual vexations about his estate. 



DOLPH HEYUGER. 455 

The stubborn refusal of Claus Hopper seemed to 
him like flat rebellion ; his temper suddenly boiled 
over, and Claus was glad to make a rapid retreat 
to escape scalding. 

When the bumpkin got to the housekeeper's 
room, he found Peter de Groodt, and several 
other true believers, ready to receive him. Here 
he indemnified himself for the restraint he had 
suffered in the study, and opened a budget of 
stories about the haunted house that astonished 
all his hearers. The housekeeper believed them 
all, if it was only to spite the doctor for having 
received her intelligence so uncourteously. Pe- 
ter de Groodt matched them with many a won- 
derful legend of the times of the Dutch dynasty, 
and of the Devil's Stepping-stones ; and of the 
pirate hanged at Gibbet Island, that continued to 
swing there at night long after the gallows was 
taken down ; and of the ghost of the unfortunate 
Governor Leisler, hanged for treason, which 
haunted the old fort and the government-house. 
The gossiping knot dispersed, each charged with 
direful intelligence. The sexton disburdened him- 
self at a vestry meeting that was held that very 
day, and the black cook forsook her kitchen, and 
spent half the day at the street-pump, that gos- 
siping-place of servants, dealing forth the newh 
to all that came for water. In a little time th<3 
whole town was in a buzz with tales about the 
haunted house. Some said that Claus Hoppei 
had seen the devil, while others hinted that the 
house was haunted by the ghosts of some of the 
patients whom the doctor had physicked out of 



'ioQ BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

the world, and that was the reason why he did 
not venture to live in it himself. 

All this put the little doctor in a terrible fume. 
He threatened vengeance on any one who should 
affect the value of his property by exciting pop- 
ular prejudices. He complained loudly of thus 
being in a manner dispossessed of his territories 
by mere bugbears ; but he secretly determined to 
have the house exorcised by the Dominie. Great 
was his relief therefore, when, in the midst of his 
perplexities, Dolph stepped forward and under- 
took to garrison the haunted house. The young- 
ster had been listening to all the stories of Claus 
Hopper and Peter de Groodt : he was fond of 
adventure, he loved the marvellous, and his imag- 
ination had become quite excited by these tales of 
wonder. Besides, he had led such an uncomfort- 
able life at the doctor's, being subjected to the 
intolerable thraldom of early hours, that he was 
delighted at the prospect of having a house to 
himself, even though it should be a haunted one. 
His offer was eagerly accepted, «^pd it was deter- 
mined he should mount guard that very night. 
Jlis only stipulation was, that the 'enterprise should 
be kept secret from his mother ; ^or he knew the 
poor soul would not sleep a wink if she knew her 
son was waging war with the powers of darkness. 

When night came on he set out on this perilous 
expedition. The old black cook, his only friend 
in the household, had provided him with a little 
mess for supper, and a rush-light ; and she tied 
round his neck an amulet, given her by an Afri 
3an conjurer, as a charm against evil spirits 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 457 

Dolph WHS escorted on his way by the doctor 
and Peter de Groodt, who had agreed to accom- 
pany him to the house, and (o see hiui safe lodged. 
The night was overcast, and it was very dark when 
they arrived at the grounds which surrounded the 
mansion. The sexton led the way with a lan- 
tern. As they walked along the avenue of aca- 
cias, the fitful light, catching from bush to bush, 
and tree to tree, often startled the doughty Peter, 
and made him fall back upon his followers ; and 
the doctor grappled still closer hold of Dolph's 
arm, observing that the ground was very slippery 
and uneven. At one time they were nearly put 
to total rout by a bat, which came flitting about 
the lantern ; and the notes of the insects from the 
trees, and the frogs from a neighboring pond, 
formed a most drowsy and doleful concert. The 
front door of the mansion opened with a grating 
sound, that made the doctor turn pale. They 
entered a tolerably large hall, such as is common 
in American country-houses, and which serves for 
a sitting-room in warm Aveather. From this they 
went up a wide staircase, that groaned and creaked 
as they trod, every step making its particular note, 
like the key of a harpsichord. This led to another 
hall on the second story, whence they entered the 
room where Dolph was to sleep. It was large, 
juid scantily furnished ; the shutters were closed ; 
but as they were much broken, there was no 
want of a circulation of air. It appeared to have 
been that sacred chamber, known among Dutch 
housewives by the name of " the best bedroom " ; 
which is the best furnished room in the house, 



458 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

but in wliicli scarce anybody is ever permitted 
to sleep. Its splendor, however, was all at an 
end. There were a few broken articles of furni- 
ture about the room, and in the centre stood a 
heavy deal table and a large arm-chair, both of 
which had the look of being coeval with the man- 
sion. The fireplace was wide, and had been faced 
with Dutch tiles, representing Scripture stories ; 
but some of them had fallen out of their places, 
and Jay scattered about the hearth. The sexton lit 
the rush-light ; and the doctor, looking fearfully 
about the room, was just exhorting Dolph to be 
of good cheer, and to pluck up a stout heart, when 
a noise in the chimney, like voices and struggling, 
struck a sudden panic mto the sexton. He took 
to his heels with the lantern ; the doctor followed 
hard after him ; the stairs groaned and creaked 
as they hurried down, increasing their agitation 
and speed by its noises. The front door slammed 
after them ; and Dolph heard them scrabbling 
down the avenue, till the sound of their feet was 
lost in the distance. That he did not join in this 
precipitate retreat might have been owing to his 
possessing a little more courage than his compan- 
ions, or perhaps that he had caught a glimpse of the 
cause of their dismay, in a nest of chimney-swal- 
lows, that came tumbling down into the fireplace. 
Being now left to himself, he secured the front 
door by a strong bolt and bar ; and having seen 
that the other entrances w^ere fastened, returned 
to his desolate chamber. Having made his sup- 
per from the basket which the good old cook had 
provided, he locked the chamber-door, and retired 



DOLPR EEYLIGER. 459 

to rest on a mattress in one corner. The night 
was calm and still ; and nothing broke upon the 
profound quiet but the lonely chirping of a cricket 
from the chimney of a distant chamber. The 
rush-light, which stood in the centre of the deal 
table, shed a feeble yellow ray, dimly illumining 
the chamber, and making uncouth shapes and 
Bhadows on the walls, from the clothes which 
Dolph had thrown over a chair. 

With all his boldness of heart, there was some- 
thing subduing in this desolate scene ; and he 
felt his spirits flag within him, as he lay on his 
hard bed and gazed about the room. He was 
turning over in his mind his idle habits, his 
doubtful prospects, and now and then heaving a 
heavy sigh as he thought on his poor old mother ; 
for there is nothing like the silence and loneliness 
of night to bring dark shadows over the brightest 
mind. By-and-by he thought he heard a sound 
as of some one walking below stairs. He lis- 
tened, and distinctly heard a step on the great 
staircase. It approached solemnly and slowly, 
tramp — tramp — tramp ! It was evidently the 
tread of some heavy personage ; and yet how 
could he have got into the house without making 
a noise ? He had examined all the fastenings, 
and was certain that every entrance was secure. 
Still the steps advanced, tramp — tramp — tramp ! 
It was evident that the person approaching could 
not be a robber, the step was too loud and delib- 
erate ; a robber w^ould either be stealthy or pre- 
t^ipitate. And now the footsteps had ascended the 
staircase ; they were slowly advancing along the 



460 BRACEBRIDGL HALL 

passage, resounding through the silent and empty 
apartments. The very cricket had ceased its mel- 
ancholy note, and nothing interrupted their aw- 
ful distinctness. The door, which had been locked 
on the inside, slowly swung open, as if self-moved. 
The footsteps entered the room ; but no one was 
to be seen. They passed slowly and audibly 
across it, tramp — tramp — tramp ! but whatever 
made the sound was invisible. Dolph rubbed his 
eyes, and stared about him ; he could see to every 
part of the dimly lighted chamber ; all was va- 
cant ; yet still he heard those mysterious foot- 
steps, solemnly walking about the chamber. They 
ceased, and all was dead silence. There was 
something more appalling in this invisible visita- 
tion than there would have been in anything that 
addressed itself to the eye-sight. It was awfully 
vague and indefinite. He felt his heart beat 
against his ribs ; a cold sweat broke out upon his 
forehead ; he lay for some time in a state of vio- 
lent agitation ; nothing, however, occurred to in- 
crease his alarm. His light gradually burnt down 
into the socket, and he fell asleep. When ho 
awoke it was broad daylight ; the sun was peer- 
ing through the cracks of the window-shutters, and 
the birds were merrily singing about the house. 
The bright cheery day soon put to flight all the 
terrors of the preceding night. Dolph laughed-, 
or rather tried to laugh, at all that had passed, 
and endeavored to persuade himself that it was a 
mere freak of the imagination, conjured up by 
the stories he had heard ; but he was a little 
puzzled to find the door of his room locked on 



DOLPH HEYLTGER. 461 

the inside, notwithstanding that he had positively 
Been it swing open as the footsteps had entered. 
He returned to town in a state of considerable 
perplexity ; but he determined to say nothing on 
the subject, until liis doubts were either confirmed 
or removed by another night's watching. His 
silence was a grievous disappointment to the gos- 
sips who had gathered at the doctor's mansion. 
They had prepared their minds to hear direful 
tales, and were almost in a rage at being assured 
he had nothing to relate. 

The next night, then, Dolph repeated his vigil. 
He now entered the house with some trepidation. 
He was particular in examining the fastenings of 
all the doors, and securing them well. He locked 
the door of his chamber, and placed a chair against 
it ; then having dispatched his supper, he threw 
himself on his mattress and endeavored to sleep. 
It was all in vain ; a thousand crowding fancies 
kept him waking. The time slowly dragged on, 
as if minutes were spinning themselves out into 
hours. As the night advanced, he grew more 
and more nervous ; and he almost started from 
his couch when he heard the mysterious footstep 
again on the staircase. Up it came, as before, 
solemnly and slowly, tramp — tramp — tramp ! It 
approached along the passage ; the door again 
swung open, as if there had been neither lock nor 
impediment, and a strange-looking figure stalked 
into the room. It was an elderly man, large and 
robust, clothed in the old Flemish fashion. He 
Qad on a kind of short cloak, with a garment 
under it, belted re und the waist ; trunk-hose, 



i:62 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

with great bunches or bows at the ki ees ; and a 
pair of russet boots, very large at top, and stand- 
ing widely from his legs. His hat was broad and 
slouched, with a feather trailing over one side. 
His iron-gray hair hung in thick masses on his 
neck ; and he had a short grizzled beard. He 
walked slowly round the room, as if examining 
that all was safe ; then, hanging his hat on a peg 
beside the door, he sat down in the elbow-chair, 
and, leaning his elbow on the table, fixed his eyes 
on Dolph with an unmoving and deadening stare. 
Dolph was not naturally a coward ; but he had 
been brought up in an implicit belief in ghosts 
and goblins. A thousand stories came swarming 
to his mind that he had heard about this building ; 
and as he looked at this strange personage, with 
his uncouth garb, his pale visage, his grizzly beard, 
and his fixed, staring, fishlike eye, his teeth began 
to chatter, his hair to rise on his head, and a cold 
sweat to break out all over his body. How long 
he remained in this situatioii he could not tell, for 
he was like one fascinated. He could not take 
his gaze off from the spectre; but lay staring at 
him, with his whole intellect absorbed in the con- 
templation. The old man remained seated be- 
hind the table, without stirring, or turning an eye, 
always keeping a dead steady glare upon Dolph. 
At length the household cock, from a neighboring 
farm, clapped his wings, and gave a loud cheerful 
crow that run or over the fields. At the sound the 
old man slowly rose, and took down his hat from 
the peg ; the door opened, and closed after him ; 
he was heard to go slowly down the staij'ivise, 



DOLPH HEYLIGER, 463 

tramp — tramp — tramp ! — and when ht iiad got 
to the bottom, all was again silent. Dolph lay 
and listened earnestly ; counted every footfall ; 
listened, and listened, if the steps should return, 
until, exhausted by watching and agitation, he fell 
into a troubled sleep. 

Daylight again brought fresh courage and as- 
surance. He would fain have considered all that 
had passed as a mere dream ; yet there stood the 
chair in which the unknown had seated himself; 
there was the table on which he had leaned ; 
there was the peg on which he had hung his hat ; 
and there was the door, locked precisely as he 
himself had locked it, with the chair placed against 
it. He hastened down-stairs, and examined the 
doors and windows ; all were exactly in the same 
state in which he had left them, and there was no 
apparent way by which any being could have en- 
tered and left the house, without leaving some 
trace behind. " Pooh ! " said Dolph to himself, 
"it was all a dream:" — but it would not do; 
the more he endeavored to shake the scene off 
from his mind, the more it haunted him. 

Though he persisted in a strict silence as to 
all that he had seen or heard, yet his looks be- 
trayed the uncomfortable night that he had passed 
It was evident that there was something wonder- 
ful hidden under this mysterious reserve. The 
doctor took him into the study, locked the door, 
and sought to have a full and confidential com- 
munication ; but he could get nothing out of him. 
Frau Ilsy took him aside, into the pantry, but to 
as little purpose ; and Peter de Groodt held him 



464 BRACEBRIDGE BALL, 

by the button for a full hour, in the church-yard, 
the very place to get at the bottom of a ghost- 
story, but came off not a whit wiser than the 
rest. It is always the case, however, that one 
truth concealed makes a dozen current lies. It 
is like a guinea locked up in a bank, that has a 
dozen paper representatives. Before the day 
was over, the neighborhood was full of reports. 
Some said that Dolph Heyliger watched in the 
haunted house, w^ith pistols loaded with silver bul- 
lets ; othej'S, that he had a long talk with a spec- 
tre without a head ; others, that Doctor Knipper- 
hausen and tlie sexton had been hunted down the 
Bowery lane, and quite into town, by a legion of 
ghosts of their customers. Some shook their heads, 
and thought it a shame the doctor should put 
Dolph to pass the night alone in that dismal house, 
where he might be spirited away no one knew 
whither ; while others observed, with a shrug, that 
if the devil did carry off the youngster, it would 
be but taking his own. 

These rumors at length reached the ears of 
the good Dame Heyliger, and, as may be supposed, 
threw her into a terrible alarm. For her son to 
have opposed himself to danger from living foes, 
would have been nothing so dreadful in her eyes, 
as to dare alone the terrors of the haunted house. 
She hastened to the doctor's, and passed a great part 
of the day in attempting to dissuade Dolph from 
repeating his vigil ; she told him a score of tales, 
which her gossi[)ing friends had just related to her, 
of persons who had been carried off, when watch- 
ing alone in old ruinous houses. It was all to no 



DOLPH HEYLIGER, 465 

effect, Dolph's pride, as well as curiosity, wa,8 
piqued. He endeavored to calm the apprehen- 
sions of his mother, and to assure her that there 
was no truth in all the rumors she had heard ; she 
looked at him dubiously and shook her head ; but 
finding his determination was not to be shaken, 
she brought him a little thick Dutch Bible, with 
brass clasps, to take with him, as a sword where- 
with to fight the powers of darkness ; and, lest 
that might not be sufiBcient, the housekeeper gave 
him the Heidelberg catechism by way of dagger. 
The next night, therefore, Dolph took np his 
quarters for the third time in the old mansion. 
Whether dream or not, the same thing was re- 
peated. Towards midnight, when everything was 
still, the same sound echoed through the empty 
halls, tramp — tramp — tramp ! The stairs were 
again ascended ; the door again swung open ; the 
old man entered ; walked round the room ; hung 
up his hat, and seated himself by the table. The 
same fear and trembling came over poor Dolph, 
though not in so violent a degree. He lay in the 
same way, motionless and fascinated, staring at 
the figure, which regarded him as before with a 
dead, fixed, chilling gaze. In this way they re- 
mained for a long time, till, by degrees, Dolph's 
courage began gradually to revive. Whether 
alive or dead, this being had certainly some object 
in his visitation ; and he recollected to have heard 
it said, spirits have no power to speak until spo- 
ken to. Summoning up resolution, therefore, and 
making two or three attempts, before he could 
get his pai'ched tongue in motion, he addressed 



466 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

^he iinkuown in the most solemn form of adjura- 
tion, and* demanded to know what was the motive 
of his visit. 

No sooner had he finislied, than the old man 
rose, took down his hat, the door opened, and he 
went out, looking back upon Dolph just as he 
crossed the threshold, as if expecting him to fol- 
low. The youngster did not hesitate an instant. 
He took the candle in his hand, and the Bible 
under his arm, and obeyed the tacit invitation. 
The candle emitted a feeble, uncertain ray, but 
still he could see the figure before him slowly 
descend the stairs. He followed trembling. 
When it had reached the bottom of the stairs, it 
turned through the hall towards the back door of 
the mansion. Dolph held the light over the bal- 
ustrades ; but, in his eagerness to catch a sight 
of the unknown, he flared his feeble taper so sud- 
denly, that it went out. Still there was sufficient 
light from the pale moonbeams, that fell through 
a narrow window, to give him an indistinct view 
of the figure, near the door. He followed, there- 
fore, down stairs, and turned towards the place ; 
but when he arrived there, the unknown had dis- 
appeared. The door remained fast barred and 
bolted ; there was no other mode of exit ; yet 
the being, whatever he might be, was gone. He 
unfastened the door, and looked out into the fields. 
It was a hazy, moonlight night, so that the eye 
could distinguish objects at some distance. He 
thought he saw the unknown in a footpath which 
led from the door. He was not mistaken ; but 
bow had he o;ot out of the house ? He did not 



DOLPH BEYLIGER, 4G7 

pause to think, but followed on. The old man 
proceeded at a measured pace, without looking 
about him, his footsteps sounding on the hard 
ground. He passed through the orchard of ap- 
pli>trees, always keeping the footpath. It led to 
a well, situated in a little hollow, which had sup- 
plied the farm with water. Just at this well 
Dolph lost sight of him. He rubbed his eyes 
and looked again ; but nothing was to be seen of 
the unknown. He reached the well, but nobody 
was there. All the surrounding groimd was 
open and clear ; there was no bush nor hiding- 
place. He looked down the well, and saw, at a 
gi-eat depth, the reflection of the sky in the still 
water. After remaining here for some time, 
without seeing or hearing anything more of his 
mysterious conductor, he returned to the house, 
full of awe and wonder. He bolted the door, 
groped his way back to bed, and it was long be- 
fore he could compose himself to sleep. 

His dreams were strange and troubled. He 
thought he was following the old man along the 
side of a great river, until they came to a vessel 
on the point of sailing ; and that his conductor 
led him on board and vanished. He remembered 
the commander of the vessel, a short swarthy man, 
with crisped black hair, blind of one eye, and 
lame of one leg ; but the rest of his dream was 
very confused. Sometimes he was sailing ; some- 
times on shore ; now amidst storms and tempests, 
and now wandering quietly in unknown streets. 
The figure of the old man was strangely mingled 
ap with the incident's of the dream, and the whole 



468 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

distinctly wound up by his finding himself on 
board of the vessel again, returning home, with a 
great bag of money 1 

When he woke, the gray, cool light of dawn 
was streaking the horizon, and the cocks passing 
the reveille from farm to farm throughout the 
country. He rose more harassed and perplexed 
than ever. He was singularly confounded by all 
that he had seen and dreamt, and began to doubt 
whether his mind was not affected, and whether 
all that was passing in his thoughts might not be 
mere feverish fantasy. In his present state of 
mind, he did not feel disposed to return immedi- 
Htely to the doctor's, and undergo the cross-ques- 
tioning of the household. He made a scanty 
breakfast, therefore, on the remains of the last 
night*s provisions, and then wandered out into 
the fields to meditate on all that had befallen him. 
Lost in thought, he rambled about, gradually 
approaching the town, until the morning was far 
advanced, when he was roused by a hurry and 
bustle around him. He found himself near the 
water's edge, in a throng of people, hurrying to a 
pi^r, where was a vessel ready to make sail. He 
was unconsciously carried along by the impulse 
of the crowd, and found that it was a sloop, on 
the point of sailing up the Hudson to Albany. 
There was much leave-taking, and kissing of old 
women and children, and great activity in carry- 
ing on board baskets of bread and cakes, and pro- 
visions of all kinds, notwithstanding the mighty 
joints of meat that dangled over the stern ; for 
4 voyage to Albany was an expedition of great 



DOLPH HEYLIGEK 469 

oionaeiit iti those days. The commander of the 
sloop was hurrying about, and giving a world of 
orders, which were not Y^ivy strictly attended to ; 
one man being busy in lighting his pipe, and an- 
other in sharpening his snicker-snee. 

The appearance of the commander suddenly 
caught Dolph's attention. He was short and 
swarthy, with crisped black hair ; blind of one eye 
and lame of one leg — the very commander that 
he had seen in his dream ! Surprised and aroused, 
he considered the scene more attentively, and re- 
adied still further traces of his dream : the ap- 
pearance of the vessel, of the river, and of a 
variety of other objects accorded with the im- 
perfect images vaguely rising to recollection. 

As he stood musing on these circumstances, the 
captain suddenly called out to him in Dutch, 
" Step on board, young man, or you '11 be left be- 
hind ! " He was startled by the summons ; he 
saw that the sloop was cast loose, and was act- 
ually moving from the pier ; it seemed as if he 
was actuated by some irresistible impulse ; he 
sprang upon the deck, and the next moment the 
sloop was hurried off by the wind and tide. 
Dolph's thoughts and feelings were all in tumult 
and confusion. He had been strongly worked 
upon by the events which had recently befallen 
him, and could not but think there was some con« 
nection between his present situation and his last 
night's dream. He felt as if under supernatural 
influence ; and tried to assure himself with an 
old and favorite maxim of his, that " one way or 
athor all would turn out for the best." For a 



i70 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

moment, the indignation of the doctor at his de* 
parture, without leave, passed across his mind, 
but that was matter of little moment ; then he 
thought of the distress of his mother at his 
strange disappearance, and the idea gave him a 
sudden pang ; he would have entreated to be put 
Dn shore ; but he knew with such wind and tide 
the entreaty would have been in vain. Then the 
inspiring love of novelty and adventure came 
rushing in full tide through his bosom ; he felt 
himself launched strangely and suddenly on the 
world, and under full way to explore the regions 
of wonder that lay up this mfghty river, and be- 
yond those blue mountains which had bounded 
his horizon since childhood. While he was lost 
in this whirl of thought, the sails strained to the 
breeze ; the shores seemed to hurry away behind 
him ; and before he perfectly recovered his self- 
possession, the sloop was ploughing her way past 
Spiking-devil and Yonkers, and the tallest chim- 
ney of the Manhattoes had faded from his sight. 

I have said that a voyage up the Hudson in 
those days was an undertaking of some moment ; 
indeed, it was as much thought of as a voyage to 
Europe is at present. The sloops were often 
many days on the way ; the cautious navigators 
taking in sail when it blew fresh, and coming to 
anclior at night ; and stopping to send the boat 
ashore for milk for tea ; without which it was im- 
possible for the worthy old lady passengers to sub- 
sist. And there were the much-talked-of perils 
of the Tappaan Zee, and the highlands. In short, 
a prudent Dutch burgher would talk of such a 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 471 

loyage foi months, and even years, beforehand ; 
and never undertook it without putting his affairs 
in order, making his will, and having prayers said 
for him in the Low Dutch churches. 

In the course of such a voyage, therefore, 
Dolph was satisfied he would have time enough 
to reflect, and to make up his mind as to what he 
should do when he arrived at Albany. The cap- 
tain, with his blind eye, and lame leg, would, it is 
true, bring his strange dream to mind, and per- 
plex him sadly for a few moments ; but of late 
his life had been made up so much of dreams and 
realities, his nights and days had been so jumbled 
together, that he seemed to be moving continually 
in a delusion. There is always, however, a kind 
of vagabond consolation in a man's having noth- 
ing in this world to lose ; with this Dolph com- 
forted his heart, and determined to make the 
most of the present enjoyment. 

In the second day of the voyage they came to 
the highlands. It was the latter part of a calm, 
sultry day, that they floated gently with the tide 
between these stern mountains. There was that 
perfect quiet which prevails over nature in the 
languor of summer heat ; the turning of a plank, 
or the accidental falling of an oar on deck, was 
echoed from the mountain-side, and reverberated - 
along the shores ; and if by chance the captain 
gave a shout of command, there were airy 
tongues which mocked it from every cliff. 

Dolph gazed about him in mute delight and 
.vonder at these scenes of nature's magnificence. 
To the left the Dunderberg reared its woody 



472 BRACEBRWGE HALL. 

precipi3es, height over height, forest over foreat, 
away into the deep summer sky. To the right 
strutted forth the bold promontory of Antony's 
Nose, with a sohtary eagle wheeling about it; 
while beyond, mountain succeeded to mountain, 
until they seemed to lock their arms together, and 
confine this mighty river in their embraces. 
There was a feeling of quiet luxury in gazing at 
the broad, green bosoms here and there scooped out 
among the precipices ; or at woodlands high in air, 
nodding over the edge of some beetling blutf, and 
their foliage all transparent in the yellow sunshine. 

In the midst of his admiration, Dolph remarked 
a pile of bright, snowy clouds, peering above the 
western heights. It was succeeded by another, 
and another, each seemingly pushing onwards its 
predecessor, and towering, with dazzling brilliancy, 
in the deep-blue atmosphere ; and now muttering 
peals of thunder were faintly heard rolling behind 
the mountains. The river, hitherto still and 
glassy, reflecting pictures of the sky and land, 
now showed a dark ripple at a distance, as 
the breeze came creeping up it. The fish-hawks 
wheeled and screamed, and sought their nests on 
the high dry trees ; the crows flew clamorously to 
the crevices of the rocks, and all nature seemed 
conscious of the approaching thunder-gust. 

The clouds now rolled in volumes over the 
mountain-tops ; their summits still bright and 
snowy, but the lower parts of an inky blackness. 
The raic began to patter down in broad and scat- 
tered drops ; the wind freshened, and curled up 
Uie waves ; at length it seemed as if the bellying 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 473 

.clouds were torn open by the mountain-tops, and 
Complete torrents of rain came rattling down. 
The lightning leaped from cloud to cloud, and 
streamed quivering against the rocks, splitting 
and rending the stoutest forest-trees. The thun- 
der burst in tremendous explosions ; the, peals 
were echoed from mountain to mountain ; they 
crashed upon Dunderberg, and rolled up the long 
defile of the hiofhlands, each headland makino; a 
new echo, until old Bull Hill seemed to bellow 
back the storm. 

For a time the scudding rack and mist, and 
the sheeted rain, almost hid the landscape from 
the sight. There was a fearful gloom, illumined 
still more fearfully by the streams of lightning 
which glittered among the rain-drops. Never had 
Dolph beheld such an absolute warring of the 
elements ; it seemed as if the storm was tearing 
and rending its way through this mountain defile, 
and had brought all the artillery of heaven into 
action. 

The vessel was hurried on by the increasing 
wind, until she came to where the river makes a 
sudden bend, the only one in the whole course of 
its majestic career.* Just as they turned the 
point, a violent flaw of wind came sweeping down 
a mountain gully, bending the forest before it, 
and, in a moment, lashing up the river into white 
froth and foam. The captain saw the danger, 
and cried out to lower the sail. Before the or- 
der could be obeyed, the flaw struck the sloop, 
and threw her on her beam ends. Everything 
* Tliis must have been the bend at West Point. 



474 BRACEBRIDGE HALL 

now was fright and confusion : the flapping of 
the sails, the whistling and rushing of the wind^ 
the bawling of the captain and crew, the shriek 
ing of the passengers, all mingled with the rolling 
and bellowing of the thunder. In the midst of 
the uproar the sloop righted ; at the same time 
. the mainsail shifted, the boom came sweeping tho 
quarter-deck, and Dolph, who was gazing un- 
guardedly at the clouds, found himself, in a mo- 
ment, floundering in the river. 

For once in his life one of his idle accomplish- 
ments was of use to him. The many truant hours 
he had devoted to sporting in the Hudson had made 
him an expert swimmer ; yet with all his strength 
and skill he found great difficulty in reaching the 
shore. His disappearance from the deck had not 
been noticed by the crew, who were all occupied 
by their own danger. The sloop was driven along 
with inconceivable rapidity. She had hard work 
to weather a long promontory on the eastern 
shore, round which the river turned, and which 
completely' shut her from Dolph's view. 

It was on a point of the western shore that he 
landed, and, scrambling up the rocks, threw him- 
self, faint and exhausted, at the foot of a tree. 
By degrees the thunder-gust passed over. The 
clouds rolled away to the east, where they lay 
piled in feathery masses, tinted with the last rosy 
rays of the sun. The distant play of the light- 
ning might be seen about the dark bases, and now 
and then might be heard the faint muttering of 
the thunder. Dolph rose, and sought about tc 
see if any path led from the shore, but all was 



DOLPn IlEYLIGER 475 

savage and trackless. The rocks were piled upon 
each other ; great trunks of trees lay shattered 
about, as they had been blown down by the 
strong winds which draw through these mountains, 
or had fallen through age. The rocks, too, were 
overhung with wild vines and briers, which com- 
pletely matted themselves together, and opposed a 
barrier to all ingress ; every movement that he 
made shook down a shower from the dripping fo- 
liage. He attempted to scale one of these almost 
perpendicular heights ; but, though strong and 
agile, he found it an Herculean undertaking. 
Often he was supported merely by crumbling pro- 
jections of the rock, and sometimes he clung to 
roots and branches of trees, and hung almost sus- 
pended in the air. The wood-pigeon came cleaving 
his whistling flight by hiai, and the eagle screamed 
from the brow of the impending cliff. As he 
was thus clambering, he was on the point of seiz- 
ing hold of a shrub to aid his ascent, when some- 
thing rustled among the leaves, and he saw a 
snake quivering along like lightning, almost from 
under his hand. It coiled itself up immediately, 
in an attitude of defiance, with flattened head, 
distended jaws, and quickly vibrating tongue, that 
played like a little flame about its mouth. Dolph s 
lieart turned faint within him, and he had well- 
nigh let go his hold and tumbled down the preci- 
pice. The serpent stood on the defensive but for 
an instant ; and finding there was no attack, glided 
away into a cleft of the rock. Dolph's eye fol- 
lowed it with fearful intensity, and saw a nest of 
adders, knotted, and writhing, and hissmg in the 



476 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

chasm. He hastened with all speud from so 
frightful a neighborhood. His imagination, full 
of this new horror, saw an adder in every curling 
vine, and heard the tail of a rattlesnake in every 
dry leaf that rustled. 

At length he succeeded in scrambling to the 
summit of a precipice ; but it was covered by a 
dense forest. Wherever he could gain a lookout 
between the trees, he beheld heights and cliffs, one 
rising beyond another, until huge mountains over- 
topped the whole. There were no signs of culti- 
vation ; no smoke curling among the trees to in- 
dicate a human residence. Everything was wild 
and sohtary. As he was standing on the edge 
of a precipice overlooking a deep ravine fringed 
with trees, his feet detached a great fragment of 
rock ; it fell, crashing its way through the tree- 
tops, down into the chasm. A loud whoop, or 
rather yell, issued from the bottom of the glen ; 
the moment after there was the report of a gun ; 
and a ball came whistling over his head, cutting 
the twigs and leaves, and burying itself deep in 
the bark of a chestnut-tree. 

Dolph did not wait for a second shot, but 
made a precipitate retreat ; fearing every moment 
to hear the enemy in pursuit. He succeeded, 
however, in returning unmolested to the shore, 
and determined to penetrate no farther into a 
country so beset with savage perils. 

He sat himself down, dripping, disconsolately, 
jn a stone. What was to be done ? where was 
he to shelter himself? The hour of repose was 
ftpproaching : the birds were seeking their nests, tL« 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 477 

bat began to flit about in the twilight, and the 
night-hawk, soaring high in the heaven, seemed to 
be calling out the stars. Night gradually closed 
in, and wrapped everything in gloom ; and though 
it was the latter part of summer, the breeze steal- 
ing along the river, and among these dripping 
forests, was chilly and penetrating, especially to a 
half-drowned man. 

As he sat drooping and despondent in this com- 
fortless condition, he perceived a light gleaming 
through the trees near the shore, where the wind- 
ing of the river made a deep bay. It cheered 
him with the hope of a human habitation, where 
he might get something to appease the clamorous 
cravings of his stomach, and what was equally 
necessary in his shipwrecked condition, a com- 
fortable shelter for the night. With extreme dif- 
ficulty he made his way toward the light, along 
ledges of rocks, down which he was in danger of 
sliding into the river, and over great trunks of 
fallen trees ; some of which had been blown 
down in the late storm, and lay so thickly together 
that he had to struggle through their branches. 
At length he came to the brow of a rock over- 
hanging a small dell, whence the light proceeded. 
It was from a fire at the foot of a great tree in 
the midst of a grassy interval or plat among the 
rocks. The fire cast up a red glare among the 
gray crags, and impending trees ; leaving chasms 
of deep gloom, that resembled entrances to cav- 
erns. A small brook rippled close by, betrayed 
by the quivering reflection of the flame. There 
were two figures moving about the fire, and othera 



478 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

Bqnatted before it. As they were between hina 
and the light, they were in complete shadow : but 
one of them happening to move round to the op- 
posite side, Dolph was startled at perceiving, by 
the glare falling on painted features, and glittering 
on silver ornaments, that he was an Indian. He 
now looked more narrowly, and saw guns leaning 
against a tree, and a dead body lying on the ground. 
Here was the very foe that had fired at him from 
the glen. He endeavored to retreat quietly, not 
caring to intrust himself to these half-human be- 
ings in so savage and lonely a place. It was too 
late : the Indian, with that eagle quickness of eye 
so remarkable in his race, perceived something 
stirring among the bushes on the rock : he seized 
one of the guns that leaned against the tree ; one 
moment more, and Dolph might have had his pas- 
sion for adventure cured by a bullet. He halloed 
loudly, with the Indian salutation of friendship ; 
the whole party sprang upon their feet ; the salu- 
tation was returned, and the straggler was invited 
to join them at the fire. 

On approaching, he found, to his consolation, 
the party was composed of white men, as well as 
Indians. One, evidently the principal personage, 
or commander, was seated on a trunk of a tree 
before the fire. He was a large, stout man, some- 
what advanced in life, but hale and hearty. His 
tkce was bronzed almost to the color of an In- 
dian's ; he had strong but rather jovial features, atf 
aquiline nose, and a mouth shaped like a mastiff's. 
His face was half thrown in shade by a broad hat 
with a buck's tail in it. His gray hair hung shorv 



DOLPH HEYLIGER, 479 

m his neck. He wore a hunting-frock, with 
Indian leggins, and moccasons, and a tomahawk 
in the broad wampum-belt round his waist. As 
Dolph cauglit a distinct view of his person and 
features, something reminded him of the ohl man 
of the haunted house. The man before him, 
however, was different in dress and age ; lie was 
more cheery too in aspect, and it was hard to fmd 
where the vague resemblance lay ; but a resem- 
blance there certainly was. Dolph felt some de- 
gree of awe in approaching him ; but was assured 
by a frank, hearty welcome. He was still further 
encouraged by perceiving that the dead body, 
which had caused him some alarm, was that of a 
deer ; and his satisfaction was complete in dis- 
cerning, by savory steams from a kettle, sus- 
pended by a hooked stick over the fire, that there 
was a part cooking for the evening's repast. 

He had, in fact, fallen in with a rambling hunt- 
ing-party, such as often took place in those days 
amons the settlers alono; the river. The hunter 
is always hospitable ; and nothing makes men 
more social and unceremonious than meetinof in 
the wilderness. The commander of the party 
poured out a dram of cheering liquor, which he 
ga^e him with a merry leer, to warm his heart ; 
and ordered one of his followers to fetch some 
garments from a pinnace, moored in a cove close 
by, while those in which our hero was dripping 
might be dried before the fire. 

Dolph found, as he had suspected, that the shot 
from the glen, which had come so near giving 
him his quietus when on the precipice, was from 



480 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

the party before him. He bad nearly crnshe<l 
one of them by the fragments of rock which he 
had detached ; and the jovial old hunter, in the 
broad hat and buck-tail, had fired at the place 
where he saw the bushes move, supposing it to be 
Bome wild animal. Pie laughed heartily at the 
blunder, it being what is considered an exceeding 
good joke among hunters ; " but faith, my lad," 
said he, " if I had but caught a glimpse of you to 
take sight at, you would have followed the rock. 
Antony Vander Heyden is seldom known to miss 
his aim." These last words were at once a clue 
to Dolph's curiosity ; and a few questions let him 
completely into the character of the man before him, 
and of his band of woodland rangers. The com- 
mander in the broad hat and hunting-frock was no 
less a personage than the Heer Antony Vander 
Heyden, of Albany, of whom Dolph had many a 
time heard. He was, in fact, the hero of many a 
story, his singular humors and whimsical habits 
being matters of wonder to his quiet Dutch neigh- 
bors. As he was a man of property, having had 
a father before him from whom he inherited large 
tracts of wild land, and whole barrels full of wam- 
pum, he could indulge his humors without control. 
Instead of staying quietly at home, eating and 
drinking at regular meal-times, amusing himself by 
smoking his pipe on the bench before the door, and 
then turning into a comfortable bed at night, he 
delighted in all kinds of rough, w^ld expeditions : 
never so happy as when on a hunting-party in 
the wilderness, sleeping under trees or bark sheds, 
Dr cruising down the river, or on some w^oodland 



DOLPH HEYLTGER. 481 

lake, fishing and f jwling, and living the Lord 
knows how. 

He was a great friend to Indians, and to an 
Indian mode of life ; which he considered true 
natural liberty and manly enjoyment. AYhen at 
homo he had always several Indian hangers-on 
who loitered about his house, sleeping like hounds 
in the sunshine ; or preparing hunting and fish- 
ing tackle for some new expedition ; or shooting 
at marks with bows and arrows. 

Over these vagrant beings Heer Antony had 
as perfect command as a huntsman over his pack ; 
though they were great nuisances to the regular 
people of his neighborhood. As he was a rich 
man, no one ventured to thwart his humors ; in- 
deed, his hearty, joyous manner made him univer- 
sally popular. He would troll a Dutch song as 
he tramped along the street ; hail every one a 
mile off, and when he entered a house, would 
slap the good man familiarly on the back, shake 
him by the hand till he roared, and kiss his wife 
and daughter before his face, — in short, there 
was no pride nor ill humor about Heer Antony. 

Besides his Indian hangers-on, he had three or 
four humble friends among the white men, who 
looked up to him as a patron, and had the run of 
his kitchen, and the favor of being taken witli 
him occasionally on his expeditions. With a 
medley of such retainers he was at present on a 
cruise along the shores of the Hudson, in a pin- 
nace kept for his own recreation. There were 
two white men with him, dressed partly in the 
Indian style, with moccasons and hunting-shirts ; 



482 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

the rest of his crew consisted of four favorite 
Indians. They had been prowling about the 
river, without any definite object, until they found 
themselves in the highlands ; where they had 
passed two or three days, hunting the deer which 
still lino:ered amono: these mountains. 

" It is lucky for you, young man," said Antony 
Vander Hey den, " that you happened to be 
knocked overboard to-day, as to-morrow morning 
we sturt early on our return homewards ; and you 
might then have looked in vain for a meal among 
the mountains — but come, lads, stir about ! stir 
about ! Let 's see what prog we have for supper ; 
the kettle has boiled long enough ; my stomach 
cries cupboard ; and I '11 warrant our guest is in 
no mood to dally with his trencher." 

There was a bustle now in the little encamp- 
ment ; one took off the kettle and turned a part 
of the contents into a huge wooden bowl. An- 
other prepared a flat rock for a table ; while a 
third brought various utensils from the pinnace ; 
Heer Antony himself brought a flask or two of 
precious liquor from his own private locker ; 
knowing his boon companions too well to trust 
any of them with the key. 

A rude but hearty repast was soon spread ; 
consisting of venison smoking from the kettle, 
with cold bacon, boiled Indian corn, and mighty 
loaves of good brown household bread. Never 
had Dolph made a more delicious repast ; and 
when he had washed it down with two or three 
draughts from the Heer Antony's flask, and felt 
the jolly liquor sending its warmth through LLs 



DOLPH HEYllGER. 483 

veins, and glowing round his very heart, he would 
not have changed his situation, no, not with the 
governor of the province. 

The Heer Antony, too, grew chirping and joy- 
ous ; told half a dozen fat stories, at which his 
white followers laughed immoderately, though 
the Indians, as usual, mauitained an invincible 
gravity. 

" This is your true life, my boy ! " said he, 
slapping Dolph on the shoulder ; "a man is 
never a man till he can defy wind and weather, 
range woods and wilds, sleep under a tree, and 
live on bass-wood leaves ! " 

And then would he sing a stave or two of a 
Dutch drinking-song, swaying a short squab 
Dutch bottle in his hand, while his myrmidons 
would join in the chorus, until the woods echoed 
again ; — as the good old song has it, 

** They all with a shout made the elements ring 
So soon as the office was o'er, 
To feasting they went, with true merriment, 
And tippled strong liquor gillore." 

In the midst of his joviality, however, Heer 
Antony did not lose sight of discretion. Though 
he pushed the bottle without reserve to Dolph, 
he always took care to help his followers himself, 
knowing the beings he had to deal with ; and 
was particular in granting but a moderate allow- 
ance to the Indians. The repast being ended, 
the Indians having drunk their liquor, and smoked 
their pipes, now wrapped themselves in their 
blankets, stretched themselves on the ground, with 
their feet to the fire, and soon fell asleep, like so 



484 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

many tired hounds. The rest of the party re« 
mained chatting before the fire, which the gloom 
of the forest, and the dampness of the air from 
the late storm, rendered extremely grateful and 
comforting. The conversation gradually moder- 
ated from the hilarity of supper-time, and turned 
upon hunting-adventures, and exploits and perils 
in the wilderness, many of which were so strange J 
and improbable, that I will not venture to repeat ^ 
them, lest the veracity of Antony Vander Hey- 
den and his comrades should be brought into 
question. There were many legendary tales told, 
also, about the river, and the settleuients on ita 
borders ; in which valuable kind of lore the 
Heer Antony seemed deeply versed. As the 
sturdy bush -beater sat in a twisted root of a tree, | 
that served him for an arm-chair, dealing forth ^ 
these wild stories, with the fire gleaming on his 
strongly marked visage, Dolph was again repeat- 
edly perplexed by something that reminded him 
of the phantom of the haunted house ; some 
vague resemblance not to be fixed upon any pre- 
cise feature or lineament, but pervading the gen- 
eral air of his countenance and figure. 

The circumstance of Dolph's falling overboard 
led to the relation of divers disasters and singular 
mishaps that had befallen voyagers on this great 
river, particularly in the earlier periods of colo- 
nial history ; most of which the Heer deliberately 
attributed to supernatural causes. Dolph stared 
At this suggestion ; but the old gentleman assured 
him it was very currently believed by the settlers 
along the river^ that these highlands were under 



DOLPIl EEYLIGER. 485 

the dominion of supernatural and mischievous 
beings, which seemed to have taken some pique 
against the Dutch colonists in the early time of 
the settlement. In consequence of this, they 
have ever taken particular delight in venting their 
spleen, and indulging their humors, upon the 
Dutch skippers ; bothering them with flaws, head- 
winds, counter-currents, and all kinds of impedi- 
ments ; insomuch, that a Dutch navigator was 
always obliged to be exceedingly wary and delib- 
erate in liis proceedings ; to come to anchor at 
dusk ; to drop his peak, or take in sail, whenever 
he saw a swa^y-bellied cloud rollinoj over the 
mountains ; in short, to take so many precautions, 
that he was often apt to be an incredible time in 
toiling up the river. 

Some, he said, believed these mischievous 
powers of the air to be the evil spirits conjured up 
by the Indian wizards, in the early times of the 
province, to revenge themselves on the strangers 
who had dispossessed them of their country. They 
even attributed to their incantations the misad- 
venture which befell the renowned Hendrick 
Hudson, when he sailed so gallantly up this river 
in quest of a northwest passage, and, as he 
thought, ran his ship aground ; which they affirm 
was nothing more nor less than a spell of these 
same wizards, to prevent his getting to China in 
this direction. 

The greater part, however, Heer Antony ob- 
served, accounted for all the extraordinary cir- 
lumstances attending this river, and the perplex- 
ities of the skippers who navigated it, by the old 



486 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

legend of the Storm-ship which haunted Point- 
no-point. On finding Dolph to be utterly igno- 
rant of this tradition, the Heer stared at him for 
a moment with surprise, and wondered where he 
had passed his hfe, to be uninformed on so impor- 
tant a point of history. To pass away the re- 
mainder of the evening, therefore, he undertook 
the tale, as far as his memory would serve, in 
the very words in which it had been written out 
by Mynheer Selyne, an early poet of the New 
Nederlandts. Giving, then, a stir to the lire, 
that sent up its sparks among the trees like a 
little volcano, he adjusted himself comfortably in 
his root of a tree, and throwing back his head, 
and closing his eyes for a few moments, to sum- 
mon up his recollection, he related the following 
legend. 




THE STORM-SHIP. 




In the golden age of the province of the 
New Netherlands, when under the sway 
of Wouter Van T wilier, otherwise called 
the Doubter,, the people of the Manhattoes were 
alarmed one sultry afternoon, just about the time 
of the summer solstice, by a tremendous storm of 
thunder and lightning. The rain fell in such tor- 
rents as absolutely to spatter up and smoke along 
the ground. It seemed as if the thunder rattled 
and rolled over the very roofs of the houses ; the 
lightning was seen to play about the church of 
St. Nicholas, and to strive three times, in vain, 
to strike its weather-cock. Garret Van Home's 
new chimney was split almost from top to bottom ; 
and Doffue Mildeberger was struck speechless 
from his bald-faced mare, just as he was riding 
into town. In a word, it was one of those un- 
paralleled storms which only happen once within 
the memory of that venerable personage known 
hi all towns by the appellation of " the oldest in- 
habitant." 

Great was the terror of the good old women 
of the Manhattoes. They gathered their children 
together, and took refuge in the cellars ; after 
having hung a shoe on the iron point of every 



488 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

bedpost, lest it should attract the ligltning. Atl 
length the storm abated ; the thunder sank into a 
growl, and the setting sun, breaking from under 
the fringed borders of the clouds, made the broad 
bosom of the bay to gleam like a sea of molten 
gold. 

The word was given from the fort that a ship 
was standing up the bay. It passed from mouth 
to mouth, and street to street, and soon put the 
little capital in a bustle. The arrival of a ship, 
in those early times of the settlement, was an 
event of vast importance to the inhabitants. It 
brought them news from the old world, from the 
land of their birth, from which they were so com- 
pletely severed : to the yearly ship, too, they 
looked for their supply of luxuries, of finery, of 
comforts, and almost of necessaries. The good 
vrouw could not have her new cap nor new gown 
until the arrival of the ship ; the artist waited for 
it for his tools, the burgomaster for his pipe and 
his supply of Hollands, the schoolboy for his top 
and marbles, and the lordly landholder for the 
bricks with which he was to build his new man- 
sion. Thus every one, rich and poor, great and 
small, looked out for the arrival of the ship. It 
was the great yearly event of the town of Nev/ 
Amsterdam ; and from one end of the year to the 
other, the ship — the ship — the ship — was the 
continual topic of conversation. 

The news from the fort, therefore, brought all 
the populace down to the Battery, to behold the 
wished-for sight. It was not exactly the time 
when she had been expected to arrive, and tho 



THE STORM-SHIP, 489 

Circumstance was a matter of some speculation. 
Many were the groups collected about the Bat- 
tery. Here and there might be seen a burgomas* 
ter, of slow and pompous gravity, giving his 
opinion with great confidence to a crowd of old 
women and idle boys. At another place was a 
knot of old weather-beaten fellows, who had been 
seamen or fishermen in their times, and were 
great authorities on such occasions ; these gave 
different opinions, and caused great disputes 
among their several adherents : but the man 
most looked up to, and followed and watched by 
the crowd, was Hans Van Pelt, an old Dutch sea- 
captain retired from service, the nautical oracle 
of the place. He reconnoitred the ship through 
an ancient telescope, covered with tarry canvas, 
hummed a Dutch tune to himself, and said noth- 
ing. A hum, however, from Hans Van Pelt, had 
always more weight with the public than a speech 
from another man. 

In the mean time the ship became more dis- 
tinct to the naked eye : she was a stout, round, 
Dutch-built vessel, with high bow and poop, and 
bearing Dutch colors. The evening sun gilded 
her bellying canvas, as she came riding over th^ 
long waving billows. The sentinel who had given 
notice of her approach, declared, that he first got 
sight of her when she was in the centre of the 
bay ; and that she broke suddenly on his sight, 
just as if she had come out of the bosom of tbo 
black thunder-cloud. The by-standers looked at 
Hans Van Pelt, to see what he would say \o this 
report : Hans Van Pelt screwed his mouth closer 



490 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

together, and said nothing ; upon which some 
shook - their heads, and others shrugged their 
shoulders. 

The ship was now repeatedly hailed, but made 
no reply, and passing by the fort, stood on up the 
Hudson. A gun was brought to bear on her, and, 
with some difficulty, loaded and fired by Hans 
Van Pelt, the garrison not being expert in artil- 
lery. The shot seemed absolutely to pass through 
the ship, and to skip along the water on the other 
side, but no notice was taken of it ! What was 
strange, she had all her sails set, and sailed right 
against wind and tide, which were both down the 
river. Upon this Hans Van Pelt, who was like- 
wise harbor-master, ordered his boat, and set off 
to board her ; but after rowing two or three 
hours, he returned without success. Sometimes 
he would get within one or two hundred yards of 
her, and then, in a twinkling, she would be half a 
mile off. Some said it was because his oarsmen, 
who were rather pursy and short-winded, stopped 
every now and then to take breath, and spit on 
their hands ; but this it is probable was a mere 
scandal. He got near enough, however, to see 
the crew ; who were all dressed in the Dutch 
style, the officers in doublets and high hats and 
feathers ; not a word was spoken by any one on 
board ; they stood as motionless as so many 
statues, and the ship seemed as if left to her own 
government. Thus she kept on, away up the 
river, lessening and lessening in the evening sun- 
shine, until she faded from sight, like a little 
white cloud melting away in the summer sky. 



THE STORM-SHIP. 491 

The appearance of this ship threw the gov- 
ernor into one of the deepest doubts that ever be- 
set him in the whole course of his administration. 
Fears were entertained for the security of the hi- 
fant settlements on the river, lest this might be 
an enemy's ship in disguise, sent to take posses- 
sion. The governor called together his council 
repeatedly to assist him with their conjectures. 
He sat in his chair of state, built of timber from 
the sacred forest of the Hague, smoking his long 
jasmin pipe, and listening to all that his counsellors 
had to say on a subject about which they knew 
nothing ; but in spite of all the conjecturing of 
the sagest and oldest heads, the governor still con- 
tinued to doubt. 

Messengers were dispatched 'to different places 
on the river ; but they returned without any tid- 
ings — the ship had made no port. Day after 
day, and week after week, elapsed, but she never 
returned down the Hudson. As, however, the 
council seemed solicitous for intelligence, they had 
it in abundance. The captains of the sloops sel- 
dom arrived without bringing some report of hav- 
ing seen the strange ship at different parts of the 
river ; sometimes near the Pallisadoes, sometimes 
off Croton Point, and sometimes in the highlands ; 
but she never was reported as having been seen 
above the highlands. The crews of the sloops, it 
is true, generally differed among themselves in 
their accounts of these apparitions ; but that may 
have arisen from the uncertain situations in which 
ihey saw her. Sometimes it was by the flashes 
of the thunder-storm lighting up a pitcliy night, 



492 BRACEBRIDGE BALL, 

and giving glimpses of her careering across Tap- 
paau Zee, or the wide waste of Haverstraw Bay. 
At one moment she would appear close upon 
them, as if likely to run them down, and would 
throw them into great bustle and alarm ; but the 
next flash would show her far off, always sailing 
against the wind. Sometimes, in quiet moonlight 
nights, she would be seen under some high bluff 
of the highlands, all in deep shadow, excepting 
her topsails glittering in the moonbeams ; by the 
time, however, that the voyagers reached the 
place, no ship was to be seen ; and when they 
had passed on for some distance, and looked back, 
behold ! there she was again, with her topsails in 
the moonshine ! Her appearance was always 
just after, or just before, or just in the midst of 
unruly weather ; and she was known among the 
skippers and voyagers of the Hudson by the name 
of '" the storm-ship." 

These reports perplexed the governor and his 
council more than ever ; and it would be endless 
to repeat the conjectures and opinions uttered on 
the subject. Some quoted cases in point, of ships 
seen off the coast of New England, navigated by 
witches and goblins. Old Hans Van Pelt, who 
had been more than once to the Dutch colony at 
the Cape of Good Hope, insisted that this must 
be the flying Dutchman, which had so long 
haunted Table Bay; but being unable to make 
port, had now sought another harbor. Others 
suggested, that, if it really was a supernatural ap- 
parition, as there was every natural reason to be- 
lieve, it might be Hendrick Hudson, and his crew 



TEE STORM-SHIP. 493 

of the Halfmoon ; who, it was well known, had 
once run aground in the upper part of the river 
in seeking a northwest passage to China. This 
opinion had very little weight with the governor, 
but it passed current out of doors ; for indeed it 
had already been reported, that Hendrick Hudson 
and his crew haunted the Kaatskill Mountain ; 
and it appeared very reasonable to suppose, that 
his ship might infest the river where the enter- 
prise was baffled, or that it might bear the shad- 
owy crew to their periodical revels in the moun- 
tain. 

Other events occurred to occupy the thoughts 
and doubts of the sage Wouter and his council, 
and the storm-ship ceased to be a subject of delib- 
eration at the board. It continued, however, a 
matter of popular belief and marvellous anecdote 
through the whole time of the Dutch government, 
and particularly just before the capture of New 
Amsterdam, and the subjugation of the province 
by the English squadron. About that time the 
storm-ship was repeatedly seen in the Tappaan 
Zee, and about Weehawk, and even down as fai 
as Hoboken ; and her appearance was supposed 
to be ominous of the approaching squall in public 
affairs, and the downfall of Dutch domination. 

Since that time we have no authentic accounts 
of her ; though it is said she still haunts the high- 
lands, and cruises about Point-no-point. People 
who live along the river insist that they some- 
times see her in summer moonlight ; and that in 
a deep still midnight they have heard the chant 
Df her crew, as if heaving the lead ; but sights 



494 BRACEBRIDGE lIALh. 

and sounds are so deceptive along the mountainous 
shores, and about the wide bays and long reaches 
of this great river, that I confess I have very 
strong doubts upon the subject. 

It is certain, nevertheless, that strange things 
have been seen in these highlands in storms, which 
are considered as connected with the old story of 
the ship. The captains of the river craft talk of 
a little bulbous-bottomed Dutch goblin, in trunk- 
hose and sugar-loafed hat, with a speaking-trumpet 
in his hand, which they say keeps about the Dun- 
derberg.* They declare that they have heard 
him, in stormy weather, in the midst of the tur- 
moil, giving orders in Low Dutch for the piping 
up of a fresh gust of wind, or the rattling off of 
another thunder-clap. That sometimes he has 
been seen surrounded by a crew of little imps in 
broad breeches and short doublets : tumbling head- 
over-heels in tlie rack and mist, and playing a 
thousand gambols in the air ; or buzzing like a 
swarm of flies about Antony's Nose ; and that, at 
such times, the hurry-scurry of the storm was 
always greatest. One time a sloop, in passing by 
the Dunderberg, was overtaken by a thunder 
gust, that came scouring round the mountain, and 
seemed to burst just over the vessel. Though 
tight and well ballasted, she labored dreadfully, 
and the water came over the gunwale. All the 
crew were amazed when it was discovered that 
there was a little white sugar-loaf hat on the 
mast-head, known at once to be the hat of the 
Heer of the Dunderberg. Nobody, however, 
• t. e. The " Thunder-Mountain," so called from its echoes. 



THE ST OEM-SHIP. 495 

dared to climb to the mast-head, and get rid of 
this terrible hat. The sloop continued laboring 
and rocking, as if she would have rolled her mast 
overboard, and seemed in continual danger either 
of upsetting or of running on shore. In this way 
she drove quite through the highlands, initil she 
had passed Pollopol's Island, where, it is said, the 
jurisdiction of the Dunderberg potentate ceases. 
No sooner had she passed this bourn, than the 
little hat spun up into the air like a top, whirled 
up all the clouds into a vortex, and hurried them 
back to the summit of the Dunderberg ; while the 
sloop righted herself, and sailed on as quietly as 
if in a mill-pond. Nothing saved her from utter 
wreck but the fortunate circumstance of having a 
horse-shoe nailed against the mast, — a wise pre- 
caution against evil spirits, since adopted by all 
the Dutch captains that navigate this haunted 
river. 

There is another story told of this foul-weather 
urchin, by Skipper Daniel Ouselsticker, of Fish- 
kill, who was never known to tell a lie. He de- 
clared, that, in a severe squall, he saw him seated 
astride of his bowsprit, riding the sloop ashore, full 
butt against Antony's Nose, and that he was exor- 
cised by Dominie Van Gieson, of Esopus, who 
happened to be on board, and who sang the hymn 
of St. Nicholas ; whereupon the goblin threw him- 
self up in the air like a ball, and went off in a 
whirlwind, carrying away with him the nightcap 
of the Dominie's wife ; which was discovered the 
next Sunday morning hanging on the weather- 
cock of Esopus church -steeple, at least forty miles 



496 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

off! Several events of this kind having taken 
place, the regular skippers of the river, for a long 
time, did not venture to pass the Dunderberg 
without lowering their peaks, out of homage to 
the Heer of the mountain ; and it was observed 
tliat all such as paid this tribute of respect were 
suffered to pa^tjs unmolested.^ 

" Such," said Antony Vander Heyden, '^ are a 
few of the stories w^ritten down by Selyne the 
poet, concerning the storm-ship, — which he af- 
firms to have brought a crew of mischievous imps 
into the province, from some old ghost-ridden 

* Among the superstitions which prevailed in the colonies, 
during the early times of the settlements, there seems to have 
been a singular one about phantom ships. The superstitious 
fancies of men are always apt to turn upon those objects which 
concern their daily occupations. The solitary ship, which, 
from year to year, came like a raven in the wilderness, bring- 
ing to the inhabitants of a settlement the comforts of life from 
the world from which they were cut off, was apt to be present 
to their dreams, whether sleeping or waking. The accidental 
sight from shore of a sail gliding along the horizon in those 
as yet lonely seas, v/t>s apt to be a matter of much talk and 
speculation. The'.e is mention made in one of the early New 
England writers of a ship navigated by witches, with a great 
horse that stood by the mainmast. I have met with another 
story, somewhere, of a ship that drove on shore, in fair, sunny, 
tranquil weather, with sails all set, and a table spread in the 
cabin, a? if to regale a number of guests, yet not a living be- 
ing or b)ard These phantom ships always sailed in the eye 
of the wmd; or ploughed their way with great velocity, mak- 
ing the smooth sea foam before their bows, when not a breath 
jf air was stirring. 

Moore has finely wrought up one of these legends of the sea 
intc a little tale, which, within a small compass, contains the 
very essence of this species of supernatural fiction. I allude 
ft! fajB Spectre Ship, bound to Deadman's Isle. 



DOLPH HEYLIGER, 497 

country of Europe. I could give a host more, 
if necessary ; for all the accidents that so often 
befall the river craft in the highlands are said to 
be tricks played off by these imps of the Dun- 
derberg ; but I see that you are nodding, so let 
us turn in for the night.'^ 

The moon had just raised her silver horns 
above the round back of Old Bull Hill, and lit up 
the gray rocks and shagged forests, and glittered 
on the waving bosom of the river. The night- 
dew was falling, and the late gloomy mountains 
began to soften and put on a gray aerial tint in 
the dewy light. The hunters stirred the fire, and 
threw on fresh fuel to qualify the damp of the 
night-air. They then prepared a bed of branches 
and dry leaves under a ledge of rocks for Dolph ; 
while Antony Vander Hey den, wrapping himself 
in a huge coat of skins, stretched himself before 
the fire. It was some time, however, before 
Dolph could close his eyes. He lay contemplat- 
ing the strange scene before him : the wild woods 
and rocks around ; the fire throwing fitful gleams 
on the faces of the sleeping savages ; and the Heer 
Antony, too, who so singularly, yet vaguely, re- 
minded him of the nightly visitant to the haunted 
house. Now and then he heard the cry of some 
animal from the forest; or the hooting of the owl ; 
or the notes of the whippoorwill, which seemed to 
abound among these solitudes ; or the splash of a 
sturgeon, leaping out of the river and falling back 
full-length on its placid surface. He contrasted 
all this with his accustomed nest in the garret- 

32 



498 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

room of the doctor's mansion ; — where the oul/ 
sounds at night were the church-clock telling the 
hour ; the drowsy voice of the watchman, drawl- 
hig out all was well ; the deep snoring of the 
doctor's clubbed nose from below-stairs ; or the 
cautious labors of some carpenter rat gnawing in 
the wainscot. His thoughts then wandered to his 
poor old mother : what would she think of his 
mysterious disappearance — what anxiety and dis 
tress would she not suffer? This thought would 
continually intrude itself to mar his present en- 
joyment. It brought with it a feeling of pain 
and compunction, and he fell asleep with the tears 
yet standing in his eyes. 

Were this a mere tale of fancy, here would bo 
a fine opportunity for weaving in strange adven- 
tures amono^ these wild mountains, and rovino 
hunters ; and, after involving my hero in a vari- 
ety of perils and difficulties, rescuing him from 
them all by some miraculous contrivance ; but as 
this is absolutely a true story, I must content my- 
self with simple facts, and keep to probabilities. 

At an early hour of the next day, therefore, 
after a hearty morning's meal, the encampment 
broke up, and our adventurers embarked in the 
pinnace of Antony Vander Heyden. There be- 
ing no wind for the sails, the Indians rowed her 
gently along, keeping time to a kind of chant of 
one of the white men. The day was serene and 
beautiful ; the river without a wave ; and as the 
vessel cleft the glassy water, it left a long, undu- 
lating track behind. The crows, who had scented 
the hunters' banquet, were already gathering and 



DOLPH UEYLIGER. 499 

hovering in the air, just where a column of thiii, 
blue smoke, rising from among the trees showed 
the place of their last night's quarters. As they 
coasted along the bases of the mountains, the Heer 
Antony pointed out to Dolph a bald eagle, the 
sovereign of these regions, who sat perched on a 
dry tree that projected over the river, and, with 
eye turned upwards, seemed to be drinking in the 
splendor of the morning sun. Their approach 
disturbed the monarch's meditations. He first 
spread one wing, and then the other ; balanced 
himself for a moment ; and then, quitting his 
perch with dignified composure, wheeled slowly 
over their heads. Dolph snatched up a gun, and 
sent a whistling ball after him, that cut some of 
the feathers from his wing ; the report of the gun 
leaped sharply from rock to rock, and awakened a 
thousand echoes ; but the monarch of the air sailed 
calmly on, ascending higher and higher, and 
wheeling widely as he ascended, soaring up th* 
green bosom of the woody mountain, until he 
disappeared over the brow of a beetling precipice. 
Dolph felt in a manner rebuked by this proud 
tranquillity, and almost reproached himself fcr 
having so wantonly insulted this majestic bird, 
Heer Antony told him, laughing, to remember 
that he was not yet out of the territories of the 
lord of the Dunderberg ; and an old Indian shook 
his head, and observed, that there was bad luck in 
killing an eagle ; the hunter, on the contrary, 
should always leave him a portion of his spoils. 
Nothing, however, occurred to molest them on 
^heir voyage. Tliey passed pleasantly through 



500 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

magnificent and lonely scenes, until they came to 
where Follopors Island lay, like a floating bower 
at the extremity of the highlands. Here they 
landed, until the heat of the day should abate, or 
a breeze spring up that might supersede the la- 
bor of the oar. Some prepared the mid-day meal, 
while others reposed under the shade of the trees. 
in luxurious summer indolence, looking drovvsily 
forth upon the beauty of the scene. On the one 
side were the highlands, vast and cragged, feath- 
ered to the top with forests, and throwing their 
shadows on the glassy water that dimpled at 
their feet. On the other side was a wide expanse A 
of the river, like a broad lake, with long sunny 
reaches, and green headlands ; and the distant 
line of JShawangunk mountains waving along a 
clear horizon, or checkered by a fleecy cloud. 

But I lorbear to dwell on the particulars of 
their cruise along the river ; this vagrant, amphib- 
ious life, careering across silver sheets of water ; 
coasting wild woodland shores ; banqueting on 
shady promontories, with the spreading tree over- 
head, the river curling its light foam to one's feet, 
and distant mountain, and rock, and tree, and 
snowy cloud, and deep-blue sky, all mingling in 
summer beauty before one ; all this, though never 
cloying in the enjoyment, would be but tedious in 
narration. 

When encamped by the v^ater-side, some of j 
the party would go into the woods and himt ; 
others would fish : sometimes they would amuse 
themselves by shooting at a mark, by leaping, by 
ranning, by w^-estling ; and Dolph gained great 



DOLPH IIEILIGER. 501 

favor in the eyes of Antony Vander Heydeu, by 
his skill and adroitness in all these exercises ; 
which the Heer considered as the highest of man- 
ly accomplishments. 

Thus did they coast joUily on^ choosing only 
the pleasant hours for voyaging ; sometimes in 
tlie cool morning dawn, sometimes in the sober 
evening twilight, and sometimes when the moon- 
shine spangled the crisp curling waves that whis- 
pered along the sides of their little bark. Never 
had Dolph felt so completely in his element ; 
never had he met with anything so completely to 
his taste as this wild, hap-hazard life. He was 
the very man to second Antony Vander Hey den 
in his rambling humors, and gained continually 
on his affections. The heart of the old bush- 
whacker yearned toward the young man, who 
seemed thus growing up in his own likeness ; 
and as they approached to the end of their voy- 
age, he could not help inquiring a little into his 
history. Dolph frankly told him his course of 
life, his severe medical studies, his little proficiency, 
and his very dubious prospects. The Heer was 
shocked to find that such amazing talents and ac- 
complishments were to be cramped and buried 
under a doctor's wig. He had a sovereign coi> 
tempt for the healing art, having never had any 
other physician than the butcher. He bore a mor- 
tal grudge to all kinds of study also, ever since 
he had been Ho^^ojed about an unintellio-ible book 
when he was a boy. But to think that a young 
fellow like Dolph, of such wonderful abilities, 
who could shoot, fish, run. jump, ride, and wrestlO; 



502 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

slionld be obliged to roll pills, and administer ju 
leps for a living — 't was monstrous ! He told 
Dolph never to despair, but to " throw physic to 
the dogs " ; for a young fellow of his prodigious 
talents could never fail to make his way. "As 
you seem to have no acquaintance in Albany," 
said Heer Antony, " you shall go home with me, 
and remain under my roof until you can look 
about you ; and in the mean time we can tak«i an 
occasional bout at shooting and fishing, for it is a 
pity that such talents should lie idle." 

Dolph, who was at the mercy of chance, was 
not hard to be persuaded. Indeed, on turning 
over matters in his mind, which he did very 
sagely and deliberately, he could not but think 
that Antony Vander Heyden was, " somehow or 
other," cormected with the story of the Haunted 
House ; that the misadventure in the highlands, 
which had thrown them so strangely together, 
was, " somehow or other," to work out something 
good : in short, there is nothing so convenient as 
this " somehow-or-other " way of accommodating 
one's self to circumstances ; it is the main stay 
of a heedless actor, and tardy reasoner, like Dolph 
Heyliger ; and he w^ho can, in this loose, easy 
way, link foregone evil to anticipated good, pos- 
sesses a secret of happiness almost equal to the 
philosopher's stone. 

On their arrival at Albany, the sight of Dolph's 
companion seemed to cause universal satisfaction. 
Many were the greetings at the river-side, and the 
salutations in the streets ; the dogs bounded be- 
fore him ; the boys whocped as he passed ; every- 



DOLPE REYLIGER. 50^ 

body seemed to know Antony Vander Pleyden. 
Dolpli followed on in silence, admiring the neat- 
ness of this worthy burgh ; for in those days Al- 
bany was in all its glory, and inhabited almost ex- 
clusively by the descendants of the original Dutch 
settlers, not having as yet been discovered and 
colonized by the restless people of New England. 
Everything was quiet and orderly; everything 
was conducted calmly and leisurely ; no hurry, 
no bustle, no struggling and scrambling for exist- 
ence. The grass grew about the unpaved streets, 
and relieved the eye by its refreshing verdure. 
Tall sycamores or pendent willows shaded the 
houses, with caterpillars swinging, in long silken 
strings, from their branches ; or moths, fluttering 
about like coxcombs, in joy at their gay transfor- 
mation. The houses were built in the old Dutch 
style, with the gable-ends towards the street. The 
thrifty housewife was seated on a bench before 
her door, in close-crimped cap, bright-flowered 
gown, and white apron, busily employed in knit- 
ting. The husband smoked his pipe on the oppo- 
site bench ; and the little pet negro girl, seated on 
the step at her mistress's feet, was industriously 
plying her needle. The swallows sported about the 
eaves, or skimmed along the streets, and brought 
back some rich booty for their clamorous young ; 
and the little housekeeping wren flew in and out of 
a Liliputian house, or an old hat nailed against 
the wall. The cows were coming home, lowing 
through the streets, to be milked at their owners 
door ; and if, perchance, there were any loiterers, 
some negro urchin, with a long goad, was gently 
urging them homewards. 



504 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

As Dolph's companion passed on, he received 
a tranquil nod from the burghers, and a friendly 
word fi'om their wives ; all calling him familiarly 
by the name of Antony ; for it was the custom 
in this stronghold of the patriarchs, where they 
had all grown up togetlier from childhood, to call 
each other by the Christian name. The Hoer 
did not pause to have his usual jokes with them, 
for he was impatient to reach his home. At 
length they arrived at his mansion. It was of 
some magnitude, in the Dutch style, with large 
iron figures on the gables, that gave the date of 
its erection, and showed that it had been built in 
the earliest times of the settlement. 

The news of Heer Antony's arrival had pre- 
ceded him, and the whole household was on the 
look-out. A crew of negroes, large and small, 
had collected in front of the house to receive him. 
The old, white-headed ones, who had grown gray 
in his service, grinned for joy, and made many 
awkward bows and grimaces, and the little ones 
capered about his knees. But the most happy 
being in the household was a little, plump, bloom- 
ing lass, his only child, and the darling of his 
heart. She came bounding out of the house ; 
out the sight of a strange young man with her 
father called up, for a moment, all the bashfulness 
of a homebred damsel. Dolph gazed at her with 
wonder and delight ; never had he seen, as he 
thought, anything so comely in the shap€i of a 
woman. She was dressed in the good old Dutch 
taste, with long stays, and full, short petticoats, 
3o admirably adapted to show and set off the fe- 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 505 

male form. Her hair, turned up under i. small 
round cap, displayed the fairness of her forehead ; 
she had fine, blue, laughing eyes, a trim, sknder 
waist, and soft swell — but, in a word, she was 
a little Dutch divinity ; and Dolph, who never 
stopped half-way in a new impulse, fell desperately 
in love with her. 

Dolph was now ushered into the house with a 
hearty welcome. In the interior was a mingled 
display of Heer Antony's taste and liabits, and 
of the opulence of his predecessors. The cham- 
bers were furnished with good old mahogany ; 
the beaufets and cupboards glittered with embossed 
silver and painted cliina. Over the parlor fireplace 
was, as usual, the family coat of arms, painted and 
framed ; above which was a long duck fowling- 
piece, flanked by an Indian pouch, and a powder- 
horn. The room was decorated with many In- 
dian articles, such as pipes of peace, tomahawks, 
scalping-knives, hunting-pouches, and belts of 
wampum ; and there were various kinds of fishing- 
tackle, and two or three fowling-pieces in the 
corners. The household affairs seemed to be 
conducted, in some measure, after the master's 
humors ; corrected, perhaps, by a little quiet 
manaf>:ement of the dau<]:hter's. There was a 
great degree of patriarchal simplicity, and good- 
humored indul<i:ence. The ne^froes came into the 
room without being called, merely to look at 
their master, and hear of his adventures ; they 
would stand listening at the door until he had 
Cnished a story, and then go off on a broad grin, 
U> i-epeat it in the kitchen. A couple of pet negro 



506 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

children were playing about the floor with the 
dogs, and sharing with them their bread and but- 
tei*. All the domestics looked hearty and happy ; 
and when the table was set for the evening re- 
past, the variety and abundance of good hoiise- 
hold luxuries bore testimony to the open-handed 
liberality of the Heer, and the notable housewifery 
of his daughter. 

In the evening there dropped in several of the 
worthies of the place, the Van Renssellaers, and 
the Gansevoorts, and the Rosebooms, and others 
of Antony Vander Heyden's intimates, to hear 
an account of his expedition ; for he was the 
Sinbad of Albany, and his exploits and adventures 
were favorite topics of conversation among the 
inhabitants. While these sat gossiping together 
about the door of the hall, and tellino^ lono; twi- 
light stories, Dolph was cosily seated,' entertaining 
the daughter, on a window-bench. He had al- 
ready got on intimate terms ; for tliose were not 
times of false reserve and idle ceremony ; and, 
besides, there is something wonderfully propitious 
to a lover's suit in the delightful dusk of a long 
summer evening ; it gives courage to the most 
timid tongue, and hides the blushes of the bash- 
ful. The stars alone twinkled brightly ; and now 
and then a fire-fly streamed his transient light be- 
fore the window, or, wandering into the room, 
flew gleaming about the ceiling. 

What Dolph whispered in her ear that long 
Bummer evening, it is impossible to say ; his 
words \^ere so low and indistinct, that they never 
reached the ear of the historian. It is probable, 



DOLPH HEYLTGER. 507 

however, that they were to the purpose ; for he 
had a natural talent at pleasing the sex, and was 
never long in company with a petticoat without 
paying proper court to it. In the mean time tlie 
visitors, one hy one, departed ; Antony Vander 
Heyden, who had fairly talked himself silent, sat 
nodding alone in his chair by the door, when he 
was suddenly aroused by a hearty salute with 
which Dolph Heyliger had unguardedly rounded 
off one of his periods, and which echoed through 
the still chamber like the report of a pistol. The 
Heer started up, rubbed his eyes, called for lights, 
and observed that it was high time to go to bed ; 
though, on parting for the night, he squeezed 
Dolph heartily by the hand, looked kindly in his 
face, and shook his head knowingly ; for the Heer 
well remembered what he himself had been at the 
youngster's age. 

The chamber in which our hero was lodged 
was spacious, and panelled with oak. It was fur- 
nished with clothes-presses, and mighty chests of 
drawers, well waxed, and glittering with brass 
ornaments. These contained ample stock of fam- 
ily linen ; for the Dutch housewives had always 
a laudable pride in showing off their household 
treasures to strangers. 

Dolph's mind, however, was too full to take par- 
ticular note of the objects around him ; yet he 
could not help continually comparing the free 
open - hearted cheeriness of this establishment 
with the starveling, sordid, joyless housekeep- 
ing at Doctor Knipperhausen's. Still something 
aiarred thi enjoyment: the idea that he must 



508 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

take leave of his hearty host, and pretty hostess, 
and cast himself once more adrift npon the Avorld. 
To linger here would be folly : he should only 
get deeper in love ; and for a poor varlet, like 
himself, to aspire to the daughter of the great 
Heer Vander Heyden — it was madness to think 
of such a thing ! The very kindness that the 
girl had shown towards him prompted him, on re- 
flection, to hasten his departure ; it would be a 
poor return for the frank hospitality of his host to 
entangle his daughter's heart in an injudicious at- 
tachment. In a word, Dolph was like many 
other young reasoners of exceeding good hearts 
and giddy heads, — who think after they PtCt, and 
act differently from what they think, — who make 
excellent determinations overnio^ht, and forojet to 
keep them the next morning. 

" This is a fine conclusion, truly, of my voy- 
age," said he, as he almost buried himself in a 
sumptuous feather-bed, and drew the fresh white 
sheets up to his chin. " Here am 1, instead of 
finding a bag of money to earry home, launched 
in a strange place, with scarcely a stiver in my 
pocket ; and, what is worse, have jumped ashore 
up to my very ears in love into the bargain. 
However," added he, after some pause, stretching 
himself, and turning himself in bed, " 1 'm in good 
quarters for the present, at least ; so I'll e'en enjoy 
the present moment, and let the next take care 
of itself; I dare say all will work out, 'some- 
how or other,' for the best." 

As he said these words, he reached out his 
hand to extinguish the candle, when he was sud- 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 509 

denly struck with astonishment and dismay, foi 
he thought he beheld the phantom of the haunted 
house, stai'ing on him from a duslvy part of the 
chamber. A second look reassured him, as he 
perceived that what he had taken for the spectre 
was, in fact, nothing but a Flemish portrait, hang- 
ing in a shadowy corner, just behind a clothes- 
press. It was, however, the precise representa- 
tion of his nightly visitor. The same cloak and 
belted jerkin, the same grizzled beard and fixed 
eye, the same broad slouched hat, with a feather 
hanging over one side. Dolph now called to mind 
the resemblance he had frequently remarked be- 
tween his host and the old man of the haunted 
house ; and was fully convinced they were in 
some way connected, and that some especial des- 
tiny had governed his voyage. He lay gazing on 
the portrait with almost as much awe as he had 
gazed on the ghostly original, until the shrill 
house-clock warned him of the lateness of the 
hour. He put out the light ; but remained for 
a long time turning over these curious circum- 
stances and coincidences in his mind, until he fell 
asleep. His dreams partook of the nature of his 
waking thoughts. He fancied that he still lay 
gazing on the picture, until, by degrees, it became 
animated ; that tlie figure descended from the 
wall, and walked out of the room ; that he fol- 
lowed it, and found himself by the well to which 
I he old man pointed, smiled on him, and disap- 
peared. 

In the morning, when he waked, he found his 
host sUmiing by his bedside, who gave him a 



510 BRACEBRIDGh HALL. 

hearty morning's salutation, and asked him how 
he had slept. Dolph answered cheerily ; but took 
occasion to inquire about the portrait that hung 
against the wall. " Ah," said Heer Antony, 
** that 's a portrait of old Killian Vander Spiegel, 
once a burgomaster of Amsterdam, who, on some 
popular troubles, abandoned Holland, and came 
over to the province during the government of 
Peter Stuyvesant. He was my ancestor by the 
mother's side, and an old miserly curmudgeon he 
was. When the English took possession of New 
Amsterdam, in 1664, he retired into the country. 
He fell into a melancholy, apprehending that his 
wealth would be taken from him and he come to 
beggary. He turned all his property into casli, 
and used to hide it away. He was for a year or 
two concealed in various places, fancying himself 
sought after by tlie English, to strip him of his 
wealth ; and finally he was found dead in his bed 
one morning, witliout any one being able to dis- 
cover where he had concealed the greater part of 
his money." 

When his host had left the room, Dolph re- 
mained for some time lost in thought. His whole 
mind was occupied by what he had heard. Van- 
der Spiegel was his mother's family iiame ; and 
he recollected to have heard her speak of this 
very Killian Vander Spiegel as one of her ances- 
tors. Pie had heard her say, too, tliat her father 
was Killian's rightful heir, only that the old man 
died without leaving anything to be inherited. 
It now appeared that Heer Antony was likewise 
a descendant, and perhaps an heir also, of this 



DOLPE HEYLIGER. 511 

poor ricli man ; and that thus the Heyligers and 
the Vander Heydens were remotely connected. 
" What," tliought he, ^' if, after all, this is the in- 
terpretation of my dream, that this is the way I 
am to make my fortune by this voyage to Albany, 
and that I am to find the old man's hidden wealth 
in the bottom of that well ? But what an odd 
roundabout mode of communicating the matter ! 
Why the plague could not the old goblin have 
told me about the well at once, without sending 
me all the way to Albany, to hear a story that 
was to send me all the way back again ? " 

These thoughts passed through his mind while 
he was dressing. He descended the stairs, full 
of perplexity, when the bright face of Marie Van- 
der Heyden suddenly beamed in smiles upon him, 
and seemed to give him a clue to the whole 
mystery. " After all," thought he, " the old gob- 
lin is in the right. If I am to get his wealth, he 
means that I shall marry his pretty descendant ; 
thus both branches of the family will again be 
united, and the property go on in the proper 
channel." 

No sooner did this idea enter his head, than it 
carried conviction with it. He was now all im- 
patience to hurry back and secure the treasure, 
which, he did not doubt, lay at the bottom of the 
well, and which he feared every moment might be 
discovered by some other person. " Who knows," 
thought he, " but this night-walking old fellow of 
the haunted house may be in the habit of haunt- 
ing every visitor, and may give a hint to some 
shrewder felUw than myself, who will take a 



512 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

shorter cut to the well than by the way of Al 
bany ? " He wished a thousand times that the 
babbling old ghost was laid in the Red Sea, and 
his rambling portrait with him. He was in a 
perfect fever to depart. Two or three days 
elapsed before any opportunity presented for re- 
turning down the river. They were ages to 
Dolph, notwithstanding that he was basking in 
the smiles of the pretty Marie, and daily getting 
more and more enamored. 

At length the very sloop from which he had 
been knocked overboard prepared to make sail. 
Dolph made an awkward apology to his host for 
his sudden departure. Antony Vander Heyden 
was sorely astonished. He had concerted half a 
dozen excursions into the wilderness ; and his 
Indians were actually preparing for a grand expe- 
dition to one of the lakes. He took Dolph aside, 
and exerted his eloquence to get him to abandon 
all thoughts of business and to remain with him, 
but in vain ; and he at length gave up the at- 
tempt, observing, " that it was a thousand pities 
so fine a young man should throw himself away." 
Heer Antony, however, gave him a hearty shake 
by the hand at parting, with a favorite fowling- 
piece, and an invitation to come to his house when- 
ever he revisited Albany. The pretty little Marie 
said nothing ; but as he gave her a farewell kiss, 
her dimpled cheek turned pale, and a tear stood 
in her eye. 

Dolph sprang lightly on board of the vessel. 
They hoisted sail ; the wind was fair ; they soon 
lost sight of Albany, its green hills and embow- 



DOLPII HEYLIGER. 513 

ered islands. They were Vv^afted gayly past the 
Kaatskill Mountains, whose fairy heights were 
bright and cloudless. They passed prosperously 
through the highlands, without any molestation 
from the Dunderberg goblin and his crew ; they 
swept on across Haverstraw Bay, and by Croton 
Point, and through the Tappaan Zee, and under 
the Palisadoes, until, in the afternoon of the third 
day, they saw the promontory of Hoboken hang- 
ing like a cloud in the air ; and, shortly after, the 
roofs of the Manhattoes rising out of the water. 

Dolph's first care was to repair to his mothers 
house ; for he was continually goaded by the idea 
of the uneasiness she must experience on his ac- 
count. He was puzzling his brains, as he went 
along, to think how he should account for his ab- 
sence without betraying the secrets of the haunted 
house. In the midst of these cogitations he en- 
tered the street in which his mother's house was 
situated, when he was thunderstruck at beholding 
it a heap of ruins. 

There had evidently been a great fire, which 
had destroyed several large houses, and the hum- 
ble dwelling of poor Dame Heyliger had been 
involved in the conflagration. The walls were 
not so completely destroyed, but that Dolph could 
distinguish some traces of the scene of his child- 
hood. The fireplace, about which he had often 
played, still remained, ornamented with Dutch 
tiles, illustrating passages in Bible history, on 
which he had many a time gazed with admiration. 
Among the rubbish lay the wreck of the good 
dame's elbow-chair, from which she had given him 
33 



514 BRACEBRIDGE HALL 

BO many a wholesome precept ; and hard by it 
was the family Bible, with brass clasps; now, 
alas ! reduced almost to 9 cinder. 

For a moment Dolph was overcome by this 
dismal sight, for he was seized with the fear that 
his mother had perished in the flames. He was 
relieved, however, from this horrible apprehen- 
sion by one of the neighbors, who happened to 
come by and informed him that his mother was 
yet alive. 

The good woman had, indeed, lost everything 
by this unlooked-for calamity ; for the populace 
had been so intent upon saving the fine furniture 
of her rich neighbors, that the little tenement, 
and the little all of poor Dame Heyliger, had 
been suffered to consume without interruption ; 
nay, had it not been for the gallant assistance of 
her old crony, Peter de Groodt, the worthy dame 
and her cat might have shared the fate of their 
habitation. 

As it was, she had been overcome with fright 
and affliction, and lay ill in body and sick at heart. 
The public, however, had showed her its wonted 
kindness. The furniture of her rich neighbors 
being, as far as possible, rescued from the flames ; 
themselves duly and ceremoniously visited and 
condoled with on the injury of their properly, and 
llieir ladies commiserated on the agitation of 
their nerves ; the public, at length, began to 
recollect something about poor Dame Heyliger, 
Slie forthwith became again a subject of univer- 
sal sympathy ; everybody pitied her more than 
ever ; and if pity could but have been coined 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 515 

into cash — good Lord ! how ric^ she would have 
been ! 

It was now determined, in good earnest, that 
something ought to be done for her without delay 
The Dominie, therefore, put up prayers for hei 
on Sunday, in which all the congregation joined 
most heartily. Even Cobus Groesbeek, the al- 
derman, and Mynheer Milledollar, the great 
Dutch merchant, stood up in their pews, and did 
not spare their voices on the occasion ; and it was 
thought the prayers of such great men could not 
but have their due weight. Doctor Knipperhau- 
sen, too, visited her professionally, and gave her 
abundance of advice gratis, and was universally 
lauded for his charity. As to her old friend, 
Peter de Groodt, he was a poor man, whose pity, 
and prayers, and advice could be of but little 
avail, so he gave her all that was in his power — 
he gave her shelter. 

To the humble dwelling of Peter de Groodt, 
then, did Dolph turn his steps. On his way 
thither Jie recalled all the tenderness and kind- 
ness of his simple-hearted parent, her indulgence 
of his errors, her blindness to his faults ; and then 
he bethought himself of his own idle, harum- 
scarum life. "I Ve been a sad scapegrace," said 
Dolph, shaking his head sorrowfully. " I 'vo been 
a complete sink-pocket, that's the truth of it. — 
But," added he briskly, and clasping his hands, 
' only let her live — only let her live — and 1 11 
show myself indeed a son ! " 

As Dolph approached the house he met Peter 
lie Groodt coming out of it. The old man started 



516 BRACEBRJDGE HALL. 

back aghast, doubting whether it was not a ghost 
that stood before him. It being bright daylight, 
however, Peter soon plucked up heart, satisfied 
that no ghost dare show his face in such clear 
sunshine. Dolph now learned from the worthy 
sexton the consternation and rumor to which his 
mysterious disappearance had given rise. It had 
been universally believed that he had been spir- 
ited away by those hobgoblin gentry that in- 
fested the haunted house ; and old Abraham 
Vandozer, who lived by the great buttonwood- 
trees, near the three-mile stone, affirmed, that he 
had heard a terrible noise in the air, as he was 
going home late at night, which seemed just as 
if a flock of wild geese were overhead, passing 
off towards the northward. The haunted house 
was, in consequence, looked upon with ten times 
more aw^e than ever ; nobody would venture to 
pass a night in it for the world, and even the 
doctor had ceased to make his expeditions to it in 
the daytime. 

It required some preparation before Dolph's 
return could be made known to his mother, the 
poor soul having bewailed him as lost ; and her 
spirits having been sorely broken down by a 
number of comforters, who daily cheered her with 
stories of ghosts, and of people carried away by 
the devil. He found her confined to her bed, 
with the other member of the Heyliger family, 
the good dame's cat, purring beside her, but sadly 
singed, and utterly despoiled of those whiskers 
which were the glory of her physiognomy. The 
poor woman threw her arms about Dolph's neck . 



DOLPH HEYLWER. 617 

* My ho^ my boy ! art tliou still alive ? " For 
a time she seemed to have forgo Lten all her losses 
and troubles in her joy at his return. Even the 
sage grimalkin showed indubitable signs of joy at 
the return of the youngster. She saw, perhaps, 
that they were a forlorn and undone family, and 
felt a touch of that kindliness w^hich fellow-suffer- 
ers only know. But, in truth, cats are a slan- 
dered people ; they have more affection in them 
than the world commonly gives them credit for. 

The good dame's eyes glistened as she saw 
one being at least, beside herself, rejoiced at 
her son's return. " Tib knows thee ! poor dumb 
beast ! '' said she, smoothing down the mottled 
coat of her favorite ; then recollecting herself, 
with a melancholy shake of the head, " Ah, my 
poor Dolph ! " exclaimed she, " thy mother can 
help thee no longer ! She can no longer help 
herself! What will become of thee, my poor 
boy ! " 

"Mother," said Dolph, "don't talk in that 
strain ; I 've been too long a charge upon you ; 
it 's now my part to take care of you in your old 
days. Come ! be of good cheer ! you, and I, 
and Tib will all see better days. I 'm here, you 
see, young, and sound, and hearty ; then don't let 
us despair ; I dare say things will all, somehow 
or other, turn out for the best." 

While this scene was going on with the Hey 
liger family, the news was carried to Doctor 
Knipperhausen of the safe return of his disciple. 
The little doctor scarce knew whether to rejoice 
or be sorry at the tidings. He was happy at 



518 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

having the foul reports which had prevailed con- 
cerning his country mansion thus disproved ; but 
he grieved at having his disciple, of whom he had 
supposed himself fairly disencumbered, thus drift 
ing back, a heavy charge upon his hands. While 
balancing between these two feelings, he was de- 
termined by the counsels of Frau Ilsy, who ad- 
vised him to take advantage of the truant absence 
of the youngster, and shut the door upon him for- 
ever. 

At the hour of bedtime, therefore, when it was 
supposed the recreant disciple would seek his old 
quarters, everything was prepared for his recep- 
tion. Dolph, having talked his mother into a 
state of tranquillity, sought the mansion of his 
quondcim master, and raised the knocker with a 
faltering hand. Scarcely, however, had it given 
a dubious rap, when the doctor's head, in a red 
nightcap, popped out of one window, and the 
housekeeper's, in a white nightcap, out of another. 
He was now greeted with a tremendous volley of 
hard names and hard language, mingled with in- 
valuable pieces of advice, such as are seldom ven- 
tured to be given excepting to a friend in distress, 
or a culprit at the bar. In a few moments, not a 
window in the street but had its particular night- 
cap, listening to the shrill treble of Frau Ilsy, and 
the guttural croaking of Dr. Knipperhausen ; and 
the word went from window to window, " Ah I 
here 's Dolph Heyliger come back, and at his old 
pranks again." In short, poor Dolph found he was 
likely to get nothing from the doctor but good 
advice ; a commodity so abundant as even to be 



DOLPE HEYLICfER, 519 

thrown ou t of the window ; so he was fain to beat 
a retreat, and take up his quarters for the nlj^ht 
undbr the lowly roof of honest Peter de Groodt. 

The next morning, bright and early, Dolph 
was out at the haunted house. Everything looked 
just as he had left it. The fields were grass- 
grown and matted, and appeared as if nobody had 
traversed them since his departure. With palpi- 
tatinof heart he hastened to the well. He looked 
down into it, and saw that it was of great depth, 
with water at the bottom. He had provided 
himself with a strong line, such as the fisher- 
men use on the banks of Newfoundland. At the 
end was a heavy plummet and a large fish-hook. 
"With this he began to sound the bottom of the 
well, and to angle about in the water. The water 
was of some depth ; there was also much rubbish, 
stones from the top having fallen in. Several 
times his hook got entangled, and he came near 
breaking his line. Now and then, too, he hauled 
up mere trash, such as the skull of ,a horse, an 
iron hoop, and a shattered iron-bound bucket. He 
had now been several hours employed without 
finding anything to repay his trouble, or to encour- 
age him to proceed. He began to think himself a 
great fool, to be thus decoyed into a wild-goose 
chase by mere dreams, and was on the point of 
throwing line and all into the well, and giving up 
all further ano;lino^. 

" One more cast of the line," said he, " and 
that shall be the last." As he sounded, he felt 
the plummet slip, as it were, through the inter- 
gtiees of loose stones ; and as he drew back the 



520 BRACEBRIDGE HALL 

line, he felt that the hook had taken hold of some- 
thing heavy. He had to manage his line with 
great caution, lest it should be broken by the 
strain upon it. By degrees the rubbish which 
lay upon the article he had hooked gave way ; 
he drew it to the surface of the water, and what 
was his rapture at seeing something like silver 
glittering at the end of his line ! Almost breath- 
less with anxiety, he drew it up to the mouth of 
the well, surprised at its great weight, and fear- 
ing every instant that his hook would slip from 
its hold, and his prize tumble again to the bottom. 
At length he landed it safe beside the well. It 
was a great silver porringer, of an ancient form, 
richly embossed, and with armorial bearings en- 
graved on its side, similar to those over his moth- 
er's mantelpiece. The lid was fastened down by 
several twists of wire ; Dolph loosened them with 
a trembling hand, and, on lifting the lid, behold ! 
the vessel was filled with broad golden pieces, of a 
coinage which he had never seen before ! It was 
evident he had lit on the place where Killian 
Vander Spiegel had concealed his treasure. 

Fearful of being seen by some straggler, he 
cautiously retired, and buried his pot of money in 
a secret place. He now spread terrible stories 
about the haunted house, and deterred every one 
from approaching it, while he made frequent visits 
to it in stormy days, when no one was stirring in 
the neighboring fields ; though, to tell the truth, 
he did not care to venture there in the dark. 
For once hi his life he was diligent and industri- 
ous, and followed up his new trade of angling 



DOLPH EEYjlIGER. 521 

^itli such perseverance and success, that in a lit- 
tle while he had hooked up wealth enough to 
make him, in those moderate days, a rich burgher 
for life. 

It would be tedious to detail minutely the rest 
of this story. To tell how he gradually managed 
to bring Ifis property into use without exciting 
surprise and inquiry, — how he satisfied all scru- 
ples with regard to retaining the property, and at 
the same time gratified his own feelings by mar- 
ryuig the pretty Marie Vander Heyden, — and 
how he and Heer Antony had many a merry and 
'oving expedition together. 

I must not omit to say, however, that Dolph 
took liis mother home to live with him, and cher- 
ished her in her old days. The good dame, too, 
had the satisfaction of no lono^er hearing; her son 
made the theme of censure ; on the contrary, he 
grew daily in public esteem ; everybody spoke 
well of him and his wines ; and the lordliest bur- 
gomaster was never known to decline his invita- 
tion to dinner. Dolph often related, at his own 
table, the wicked pranks which had once been the 
abhorrence of the town ; but they were now con- 
sidered excellent jokes, and the gravest dignitary 
was fain to hold his sides when listening to them. 
No one was more struck with Dolph's increasing 
merit than his old master the doctor ; and so for- 
giving was Dolph, that he absolutely employed 
the doctor as his family physician, only taking 
care that his prescriptions should be always 
thrown out of the window. His mother had of- 
ten her junto of old cronies to take a snug cup 



522 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

of tea with her in her comfortable little parlor; 
iiud Peter de Groodt, as he sat by the fireside, 
with one of her grandchildren on his knee, would 
tnany a time congratulate her upon her son turn- 
ing out so great a man ; upon which the good 
old soul would wag her head with exultation, and 
exclaim, " Ah, neighbor, neighbor ! did I not say 
that Dolph would one day or other hold up his 
head with the best of them ? " 

Thus did Dolph Heyliger go on, cheerily and 
prosperously, growing merrier as he grew older 
and wiser, and completely falsifying the old prov- 
erb about money got over the devil's back ; for 
he made good use of his wealth, and became a 
distinguished citizen, and a valuable member of 
the community. He was a great promoter of 
public institutions, such as beef-steak societies 
and catch-clubs. He presided at all public din- 
ners, and was the first that introduced turtle from 
the West Indies. He improved the breed of 
race-horses and game-cocks, and was so great a 
patron of modest merit, that any one who could 
sing a good song, or tell a good story, was sure 
to find a place at his table. 

He was a member, too, of the corporation, 
made several laws for the protection of game and 
oysters, and bequeathed to the board a large silver 
punch-bowl, made out of the identical porringer 
before mentioned, and which is in the possession 
of the corporation to this very day. 

Finally, he died, in a florid old age, of an apo- 
plexy at a corporation feast, and was buried with 
great honors in the yard of the little Dutch church 



DOLPH EEYLIGER, 523 

in Garden Street, where his tombstone may still 
be seen with a modest epitaph in Dutch, by his 
fnend Mynheer Justus Benson, an ancient and 
excellent poet of the province. 

The foregoing tale rests on better authority than 
most tales of the kind, as I have it at second- 
hand from the lips of Dolph Heyliger himself 
He never related it till towards the latter part of 
his- life, and then in great confidence, (for he was 
very discreet,) to a few of his particular cronies 
at his own table, over a supernumerary bowl of 
punch ; and, strange as the hobgoblin parts of the 
story may seem, there never was a single doubt 
expressed on the subject by any of his guests. 
It may not be amiss, before concluding, to observe 
that, in addition to his other accomplishments, 
Dolph Heyliger was noted for being the ablest 
drawer of the long-bow in the whole province. 



THE WEDDING. 

No more, no more, much honor aye betide 
The lofty bridegroom, and the lovely bride; 
That all of their succeeding days may say, 
Each day appears like to a wedding day. 

Braithwaite. 




liOT WITHSTANDING the doubts and 
the demurs of Lady Lillycraft, and all 
the grave objections conjured up against 
the month of May, the wedding has at length 
happily taken place. It was celebrated at the 
vilhige church, in presence of a numerous com- 
pany of relatives and friends, and many of the 
tenantry. The Squire must needs have some- 
thing of the old ceremonies observed on the oc- 
casion ; so, at the gate of the church-yard, several 
little girls of the village, dressed in white, were 
in readiness with baskets of flowers, which they 
strewed before the bride ; and the butler bore be- 
tore her the bride-cup, a great silver embossed 
bowl, one of the family relics from the days of 
(he hard drinkers. This was filled with rich wine, 
and decorated with a branch of rosemary, tied 
with gay ribbons, according to ancient custom. 

" Happy is the bride that the sun shines on,'* 
Bays the old proverb ; and it was as suimy and 



THE WEDDING. 525 

auspicious a morning as heart could wish. The 
bride looked uncommonly beautiful ; but, in fact, 
what woman does not look interesting on her 
wedding-day ? I know no sight more charming 
and touching than that of a young and timid bride, 
in her robes of virgin white, led up trembling 
to the altar. When I thus behold a lovely girl, 
in the tenderness of her years, forsaking the house 
of her fathers, and the home of her childhood ; 
and witli the implicit confiding, and the sweet 
self-abandonment, which belong to woman, giving 
up all the world for the man of her choice : when 
I hear her, in the good old language of the ritual, 
yielding herself to him, " for better for worse, for 
richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to 
love, honor, and obey, till death us do part," it 
brings to my mind the beautiful and affecting 
self-devotion of Ruth : " Whither thou goest I 
will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge ; thy 
people shall be my people, and thy God my 
God." 

The fair Julia was supported on the trying oc- 
casion by Lady Lillycraft, whose heart was over- 
flowing with its wonted sympathy in all matters 
of love and matrimony. As the bride approached 
the altar, her face would be one moment covered 
with blushes, and the next deadly pale ; and she 
seemed almost ready to shrink from sight among 
her female companions. 

I do not know what it is that makes every one 
serious, and, as it were, awe-struck, at a marriage 
ceremony ; which is generally considered an occa- 
sion of festivity and rejoicing. As the ceremony 



526 BRACEBRWGE HALL. 

was performing, I observed many a rosy face 
among the country-girls turn pale, and I did not 
see a smile throughout the church. The young 
ladies from the Hall were almost as much friorht- 
ened as if it had been their own case, and stole 
many a look of sympathy at their trembling com- 
panion. A tear stood in the eye of the sensitive 
Lady Lillycraft ; and as to Phoebe Wilkins, who 
was present, she absolutely wept and sobbed 
aloud ; but it is hard to tell, half the time, what 
these fond foolish creatures are crying about. 

The captain, too, though naturally gay and un- 
concerned, was much agitated on the occasion ; 
and, in attempting to put the ring upon the bride's 
finger, dropped it on the floor ; which Lady Lilly- 
craft has since assured me is a very lucky omen. 
Even Master Simon had lost his usual vivacity, 
and assumed a most whimsically solemn face, 
wliich he is apt to do on all occasions of cere- 
mony. He had much whispering with the parson 
and parish-clerk, for he is always a busy per- 
sonage in the scene, and he echoed the clerk's 
amen with a solemnity and devotion that edified 
the whole assemblage. 

The moment, however, that the ceremony was 
over, the transition was magical. The bride-cup 
was passed round, according to ancient usage, for 
the company to drink to a happy union ; every 
one's feelings seemed to break forth from restraint. 
Master Simon had a world of bachelor pleasant- 
ries to utter, and as to the gallant general, he 
bowed and cooed about the dulcet Lady Lilly- 
craft like a mighty cock -pigeon about his dame. 



THE WEDDING. 527 

The villagers gathered in the chunjh-yard to 
cheer ihe happy couple as they left the church ; 
and the musical tailor had marshalled his band, 
and set up a hideous discord, as the blushing and 
smiling bride passed through a lane of honest 
peasantry to her carriage. The children shouted 
and threw up their hats ; the bells rang a merry 
peal that set all the crows and rooks Hying and 
cawing about the air, and threatened to bring 
down the battlements of the old tower ; and there 
was a continual popping off of rusty firelocks 
from every part of the neighborhood. 

The prodigal son distinguished himself on the 
occasion, having hoisted a Hag on the top of the 
school-house, and kept the village in a hubbub 
from sunrise, with the sound of drum and fife 
and pandean pipe ; in which species of music 
several of his scholars are making wonderful 
proficiency. In his great zeal, however, he had 
nearly done mischief; for on returning from 
church, the horses of the bride's carriage took 
fright from the discharge of a row of old gun-bar- 
rels, which he had mounted as a park of artillery 
in front of the school-house to give the captain a 
military salute as he passed. 

The day passed off with great rustic rejoicing. 
Tables were spread under the trees in the park, 
where all the peasantry of the neighborhood were 
regaled with roast-beef and plum-pudding, and 
oceans of ale. Ready-Money Jack presided at 
one of the tables, and became so full of good 
cheer as to unbend from his usual gravity, to 
sing a song out of all tune, and give two or threw 



528 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

shouts of laughter that almost electrified hia 
neiglibors like so many peals of thunder. The 
schoolmaster and the apothecary vied with each 
other in making speeches over their liquor ; and 
there were occasional glees and musical perform- 
ances by the village band, that must have fright- 
ened every faun and dryad from the park. Even 
old Christy, who had got on a new dress from 
top to toe, and shone in all the splendor of bright 
leather-breeches, and an enormous wedding favor 
in his cap, forgot his usual crustiness, became in- 
spired by wine and wassail, and absolutely danced 
a hornpipe on one of the tables, with all the grace 
and agility of a mannikin hung upon wires. 

Equal gayety reigned within doors, where a 
large party of friends were entertained. Every 
one laughed at his own pleasantry, without at- 
tending to that of his neighbor's. Loads of bride- 
cake were distributed. The young ladies were 
all busy in passing morsels of it through the wed- 
ding-ring to dream on, and I myself assisted a 
little boarding-school girl in putting up a quantity 
for her companions, which I have no doubt will 
set all the little heads in the school gadding, for 
a week at least. 

After dinner all the company, great and small, 
gentle and simple, abandoned themselves to the 
dance : not the modern quadrille, with its grace- 
ful gravity, but the merry, social, old country- 
dance ; the true dance, as the Squire says, for a 
wedding occasion, as it sets all the world jigging 
in couples, hand in hand, and makes every eye and 
e,\QYj heart dance merrily to the music. Ac- 



THE WEDDING, 52^ 

cording to frank old usage, the gentlefolks of the 
Hall mingled for a time in the dance of the peas- 
antry, who had a great tent erected for a ball- 
room ; and I think I never saw Master Simon 
more in his element than when figuring about 
among his rustic admirers as master of the cere- 
monies ; and, with a mingled air of protection and 
gallantry, leading out the quondam Queen of 
May, all blushing at the signal honor conferred 
upon her. 

In the evening the whole village was illumi- 
nated, excepting the house of the radical, who 
has not shown liis face during the rejoicings. 
There was a display of fireworks at the school- 
house, got up by the prodigal son, which had well- 
nigh set fire to the building. The Squire is so 
much pleased with the extraordinary services of 
this last-mentioned worthy, that he talks of en- 
rolling him in his list of valuable retainers, and 
promoting him to some important post on the es- 
tate ; peradventure to be falconer, if the hawks 
can ever be brought into proper training. 

There is a well-known old proverb, which says 
" one wedding makes many," — or something to 
Ihe same purpose ; and I should not be surprised 
if it holds good in the present instance. I have 
seen several flirtations among the young people 
bj'ought together on this occasion ; and a great 
dnal of strolling about in pairs, among the retired 
walks and blossoming shrubberies of the old gar- 
den : and if groves were really given to whisper- 
ing, as poets would fain make us believe, Heaven 
knows what love-tales the gra-^e-looking old trees 
34 



530 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. 

about this venerable country-seat might blab to 
the world. 

The general, too, has waxed very zealous in his 
devotions within the past few days, as the time 
of her ladyship's departure approaches. I ob- 
served him casting many a tender look at her dur- 
ing the wedding dinner, while the courses were 
changing ; though he was always liable to be in- 
terrupted in his adoration by the appearance of 
any new delicacy. The general, in fact, has ar- 
rived at that time of life when the heart and the 
stomach maintain a kind of balance of power, 
and when a man is apt to be perplexed in his af- 
fections between a fine woman and a truffled tur- 
key. Her ladyship was certainly rivalled through 
the whole of the first course by a dish of stewed 
carp; and there was one glance, which was evi- 
dently intended to be a point-blank shot at her 
heart, and could scarcely have failed to effect a 
practicable breach, had it not unluckily been di- 
rected away to a tempting breast of lamb, in which 
it immediately produced a formidable incision. 

Thus did this faithless general go on, coquet- 
ting during the whole dinner, and committing an 
infidelity with every new dish ; until, in the end, 
he was so overpowered by the attentions he had 
paid to fish, flesh, and fowl, to pastry, jelly, cream, 
and blanc-mange, that he seemed to sink within 
himself; his eyes swam beneath their lids, and 
their fire was so much slackened that he could no 
longer discharge a single glance that would reach 
across the table. Upon the whole, I fear the gen- 
era) ate himself into as much disgrace, at this 



THE WEDDING, 531 

memorable dinner, as I have seen him sleep him- 
Felf into on a former occasion. 

I am told, moreover, that ^oung Jack Tibbets 
was so touched by the wedding ceremony, at which 
he was present, and so captivated by the sensi- 
bility of poor Phoebe Wilkins, who certainly 
looked all the better for her tears, that he had a 
reconciliation with her that very day after dinner, 
in one of the groves of the park, and danced with 
her in the evening ; to the complete confusion of 
all Dame Tibbets's domestic politics. I met them 
walking together in the park, shortly after tlie 
reconciliation must have taken place. Young 
Jack carried himself gayly and manfully ; but 
Phoebe hung her head, blushing, as I approached. 
However, just as she passed me and dropped a 
courtesy, I caught a shy gleam of her eye from 
under her bonnet ; but it was immediately cast 
down again. I saw enough in that single gleam, 
and in an involuntary smile dimpling about her 
rosy lips, to feel satisfied that the little gypsy's 
heart was happy again. 

What is more. Lady Lillycraflt, with her usual 
benevolence and zeal in all matters of this tender 
nature, on hearing of the reconciliation of the 
lovers, undertook the critical task of breaking 
the matter to Ready-Money Jack. She thought 
there was no time like the present, and attacked 
(he sturdy old yeoman that very evening in the 
park, while his heart was yet lifted up with the 
Squire's good cheer. Jack was a little sur- 
prised at being drawn aside by her ladyship, 
but was not to b3 flurried by such an honor : he 



532 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

was still more surprised by the nature of her 
communication, and by this first intelligence of 
an affair that had been passing under his eye. 
He listened, however, with his usual gravity, as 
her ladyship represented the advantages of the 
match, the good qualities of the girl, and the dis- 
tress which she had lately suffered : at length his 
eye began to kindle, and his hand to play with 
the head of his cudgel. Lady Lillycraft saw that 
somethiuij in the narrative had fjone wron^:, and 
hastened to mollify his rising ire by reiterating the 
soft-hearted Phoebe's merit and fidehty, and her 
great unhappiness ; when old Ready-Money sud- 
denly interrupted her by exclaiming, that, if Jack 
did not marry the wench, he 'd break every bone 
in his body ! The match, therefore, is considered 
a settled thing : Dame Tibbets and the house- 
keeper have made friends, and drunk tea together ; 
and Phoebe has again recovered her good looks 
and good spirits, and is carolling from morning till 
night like a lark. 

But the most whimsical caprice of Cupid is one 
that I should be almost afraid to mention, did I not 
know that I was writing for readers well experi- 
enced in the waywardness of this most mischievous 
deity. The morning after the wedding, therefore, 
while Lady Lillycraft was making preparations 
for her departure, an audience was requested by 
her immaculate handmaid, Mrs. Hannah, who, 
with much primming of the mouth, and many 
maidenly hesitations, requested leave to stay be 
hind, and that Lady Lillycraft would supply her 
place with some other servant. Her }>adyskip waa 



THE WEDDING. 533 

astonished ; " What ! Hannah going to quit her, 
that had lived with her so long ! " 

" Why, one could not help it ; one must settle 
ia life some time or other." 

The good lady was still lost in amazement ; at 
length the secret was gasped from the dry lips of 
the maiden gentlewoman : *' She had been some 
time thinking of changing her condition, and at 
length had given her word,' last evening, to Mr. 
Christy, the huntsman." 

How, or when, or where this singular court- 
ship had been carried on, I have not been able 
to learn ; nor how she has been able, with the 
vinegar of her disposition, to soften the stony heart 
of old Nimrod ; so, however, it is, and it has as- 
tonished every one. With all her ladyship's love 
of match-making, this last fume of Hymen's torch 
has been too much for her. She has endeavored 
to reason with Mrs. Hannah, but all in vain ; her 
mind was made up, and she grew tart on the least 
contradiction. Lady Lillycrafl applied to the 
Squire for his interference. " She did not know 
what she should do without Mrs. Hannah, she 
had been used to have her about her so long a 
time." 

The Squire, on the contrary, rejoiced in the 
match, as relieving the good lady from a kind of 
toilet-tyrant, under whose sway she had suffered 
for years. Instead of thwarting the affair, there- 
fore, he has given it his full countenance ; and 
declares that he will set up the young couple in 
one of the best cottages on his estate. The ap- 
probation of the Squire has been followed by that 



534 BEACEBRIDGE BALL. 

of the whole household ; they all declare, that, if 
ever matches are ready made in heaven, this must 
have been, for that old Christy and Mrs. Han- 
nah were as evidently formed to be linked to- 
gether as ever were pepper-box and vinegar- 
cruet. 

As soon as this matter was arranged, Lady 
Lilly craft took her leave of the family at the 
Hall ; taking with her the captain and his blush- 
ing bride, who are to pass the honeymoon with 
her. Master Simon accompanied them on horse- 
back, and indeed means to ride on ahead to make 
preparations. The general, who was fisliing in 
vain for an invitation to her seat, handed her 
ladyship into her carriage with a heavy sigh ; 
upon which his bosom-friend. Master Simon, who 
was just mounting his horse, gave me a knowing 
wink, made an abominably wry face, and leaning 
from his saddle, whispered loudly in my ear, " It 
won't do ! " Then putting spurs to his horse, 
away he cantered off. The general stood for 
some time waving his hat after the carriage as it 
rolled down the avenue, until he was seized with 
a fit of sneezing, from exposing his head to the 
cool breeze. I observed that he returned rather 
thoughtfully to the house ; whistling softly to him- 
self, with his hands behind his back, and an ex- 
ceedingly dubious air. 

The company have now almost all taken their 
departure ; I have determined to do the same to- 
morrow morning ; and I hope my reader may 
Dot think that I have already lingered too long 
lit the Hall. I have been tempted to do so, how 



THE WEDDING. 535 

sver, because I thought I had lit upon one of the 
retired places where rf!ere are yet some traces to 
be met with of old English character. A little 
while hence, and all these will probably have 
passed away. Ready-Money Jack will sleep 
with his fathers ; the good Squire, and all his 
peculiarities, will be buried in the neighboring 
church. The old Hall will be modernized into a 
fashionable country-seat, or, perad venture, a man- 
ufactory. The park will be cut up into petty 
farms and kitchen-gardens, A daily coach will 
run through the village ; it will become, like all 
other commonplace villages, thronged with coach- 
men, post - boys, tipplers, and politicians ; and 
Christmas, May-day, and all the other hearty 
merry-makings of the " good old times," will be 
forgotten. 




THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL. 

And so, without more circumstance at all, 
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part. 

Hamlet. 




ilAYING taken leave of the Hall and its 
inmates, and brought the history of my 
visit to something like a close, there 
seems to remain nothing further than to make my 
bow, and exit. It is my foible, however, to get 
on such companionable terms with my reader in 
the course of a work, that it really costs me some 
pain to part with him, and I am apt to keep him 
by the hand, and have a few farewell words at 
the end of my last volume. 

When I cast an eye back upon the work [ am 
just concluding, I cannot but be sensible how 
full it must be of errors and imperfections ; in- 
deed, how should it be otherwise, writing, as I 
do, about subjects and scenes with which, as a 
stranger, I am but partially acquainted ? Many 
will, doubtless, find cause to smile at very obvi- 
ous blunders which I may have made ; and many 
may, perhaps, be offended at what they may con- 
ceive prejudiced representations. Some will 
think I might have said much more on such sub- 
jects as may suit their peculiar tastes ; whilst 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL. 537 

others will think I had done wiser to have left 
those subjects entirely alone. 

It will probably be said, too, by some, that I 
view England with a partial eye. Perhaps I do ; 
for I can never forget that it is my " fatherland." 
And yet the circumstances under which I have 
viewed it have by no means been such as were 
calculated to produce favorable impressions. For 
the greater part of the time that I have resided 
in it, I have lived almost unknowing and un- 
known ; seeking no favors and receiving none ; — 
" a stranger and a sojourner in the land," and 
subject to all the chills and neglects that are the 
common lot of the stranger. 

When I consider these circumstances, and rec- 
ollect how often I have taken up my pen, with i 
mind ill at ease, and spirits much dejected. anJ 
cast down, I cannot but think I was not likeif 
to err on the favorable side of the picture. The 
opinions I have given of English character have 
been the result of much quiet, dispassionate, and 
varied observation. It is a character not to be 
hastily studied, for it always puts on a repulsive 
and ungracious aspect to a stranger. Let those, 
then, who condemn my representations as too 
favorable, observe this people as closely and de- 
liberately as I have done, and they will, probably, 
change their opinion. Of one thing, at any rate, 
I am certain, that I have spoken honestly and 
sincerely, from the convictions of my mind j^nd 
the dictates of my heart. When I first publisued 
my former writings, it was with no hope of gZAXi-* 
ing favor in English eyes, for I little thou^i^ 



538 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

they were to become current out of my own coun« 
try ; and had I merely sought popularity among 
my own countrymen, I should have taken a more 
direct and obvious way, by gratifying rather than 
rebuking the angry feelings then prevalent agaitst 
England. 

And here let me acknowledge my warm, my 
thankful feelings, at the effect produced by one of 
my trivial lucubrations. I allude to the essay in 
the " Sketch-Book," on the subject of the literary 
feuds between England and America. I cannot 
express the heartfelt delight I have experienced 
at the unexpected sympathy and approbation with 
which those remarks have been received on both 
sides of the Atlantic. I speak this not from any 
palt' y feelings of gratified vanity, for I attribute 
the effect to no merit of my pen. The paper in 
question was brief and casual, and the ideas it 
conveyed were simple and obvious. " It was the 
cause ; it was the cause " alone. There was a 
predisposition on the part of my readers to be 
favorably affected. My countrymen responded in 
heart to the filial feelings I had avowed in their 
name towards the parent country ; and there was 
a generous sympathy in every English bosom 
towards a solitary individual, lifting up his voice 
in a strange land, to vindicate the injured char- 
acter of his nation. There are some causes so 
sacred as to carry with them an irresistible ap- 
peal to every virtuous bosom ; and he needs but 
little power of eloquence, who defends \hQ honor 
of his wife, his mother, or his country. 

I hail, therefore, the success of that brief paper 



TEE AUThORS FAREWELL. 539 

RS showing how much good may be done by a 
kind word, however feeble, when spoken in sea- 
son, — as showing how much dormant good feel- 
ing actually exists in each country, towards the 
other, which only wants the slightest spark to 
kindle it into a genial flame, — as showing, in 
fact, what I have all along believed and asserted, 
that the two nations would grow together in es- 
teem and amity, if meddling and malignant spirits 
would but throw by their mischievous pens, and 
leave kindred hearts to the kindly impulses of 
nature. 

I once more assert, and I assert it with in- 
creased conviction of its truth, that there exists 
among the great majority of my countrymen a 
favorable feeling toward England. I repeat this 
assertion, because I think it a truth that cannot 
too often be reiterated, and because it has met 
with some contradiction. Among all the liberal 
and enlightened minds of my countrymen, among 
all those which eventually give a tone to national 
opinion, there exists a cordial desire to be on 
terms of courtesy and friendship. But at the 
same time there exists in those very minds a dis- 
trust of reciprocal good-will on the part of Eng- 
land. They have been rendered morbidly sensi- 
tive by the attacks made upon their country by 
the English press ; and their occasional irritability 
on this subject has been misinterpreted into a set- 
tled and unnatural hostility. 

For my part, I consider this jealous sensibility 
fts belonging to generous natures. I should look 
upon my countrymen as fallen indeed from that 



540 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 

independence of spirit which is their birth -gift 
as fallen indeed from that pride of character which 
they inherit from the proud nation from which 
they sprung, could they tamely sit down under 
the infliction of contumely and insult. Indeed, 
the very impatience which they show as to the 
misrepresentations of the press, proves their re- 
spect for English opinion, and their desire for 
English amity ; for there is never jealousy where 
there is not strong regard. 

It is easy to say, that these attacks are all the 
effusions of worthless scribblers, and treated with 
silent contempt by the nation ; but, alas ! the 
slanders of the scribbler travel abroad, and the 
silent contempt of the nation is only known at 
home. With England, then, it remains, as I have 
formerly asserted, to promote a mutual spirit of 
conciliation ; she has but to hold the language of 
friendship and respect, and she is secure of the 
good- will of every American bosom. 

In expressing these sentiments, I would utter 
nothing that should commit the proper spirit of 
my countrymen. We seek no boon at England's 
hands : we ask nothing as a favor. Her friend- 
ship is not necessary, nor would her hostility be 
dangerous to our well-being. We ask nothing 
from abroad that we cannot reciprocate. But 
with respect to England, we have a warm feeling 
of the heart, the glow of consanguinity that still 
lingers in our blood. Interest apart — past dif- 
ferences forgotten — we extend the hand of old 
relationship. We merely ask, do not estrange is 
from you ; do not destroy the ancient tie of blood ; 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL. 541 

do not let scoffers and slanderers drive a kindred 
nation from your side : we would fain be friends ; 
do not compel us to be enemies. 

There needs no better rallying ground for in- 
ternational amity than that furnished by an emi- 
nent English writer. " There is," says he, " a sa- 
cred bond between us of blood and of language, 
which no circumstances can break. Our litera- 
ture must always be theirs ; and though their laws 
are no longer the same as ours, we have the same 
Bible, and we address our common Father in the 
same prayer. Nations are too ready to admit 
that they have natural enemies ; why should they 
be less willing to believe that they have natural 
friends ? " "* 

To the magnanimous spirits of both countries 
must we trust to carry such a natural alliance of 
affection into full effect. To pens more powerful 
than mine I leave the noble task of promoting the 
cause of national amity. To the intelligent and 
enlightened of my own country I address my 
parting voice, entreating them to show themselves 
superior to the petty attacks of the ignorant and 
the worthless, and still to look with dispassionate 
and philosophic eye to the moral character of 
England, as the intellectual source of our rising 
greatness ; while I appeal to every generous- 
minded Englishman from the slanders which dis- 
grace the press, insult the understanding, and be- 

* From an article (said to be by Robert Southey, Esq.) 
publislied in the Quarterly Review, It is to be lamented 
that that publication should so often forget the generous text 
here given. 



542 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. 

lie the magnanimity of his country ; and 1 invite 
him to look to America as to a kindred nation 
worthy of its origin ; giving, in the healthy vigor 
of its growth, the best of comments on its parent 
stock ; and reflecting, in the dawning brightness 
of its fame, the moral effulgence of British glory. 

I am sure that such an appeal will not be 
made in vain. Indeed, I have noticed, for some 
time past, an essential change in English senti- 
ment with regard to Auierica. In parliament, 
that fountain-head of public opinion, there seems 
to be an emulation, on both sides of the house, in 
holding the language of courtesy and friendship. 
The same spirit is daily becoming more and more 
prevalent in good society. There is a growing 
curiosity concerning my country ; a craving de- 
sire for correct information, that cannot fail to 
lead to a favorable understanding. The scoffer, 
I trust, has had his day ; the time of the slan- 
derer is gone by ; the ribald jokes, the stale 
commonplaces, which have so long passed current 
when America was the theme, are now banished 
to the ignorant and the vulgar, or only perpetu- 
ated by the hireling scribblers and traditional 
jesters of the press. The intelligent and high- 
minded now pride themselves upon making Amer- 
ica a study. 

But however my feelings may be understood or 
reciprocated on either side of the Atlantic, I 
utter them without reserve, for I have ever found 
that to speak frankly is to speak safely. I am 
not so sanguine as to believe that the two nations 
are ever to be bound together by any romantic ties 



THE AUTHORS FAREWELL. 543 

of feeling ; but I believe that much may be done 
towards keeping alive cordial sentiments, were 
QYQTy v^ell-disposed mind occasionally to throw 
in a simple word of kindness. If I have, indeed, 
produced any such effect by my writings, it will 
be a soothing reflection to me, that for once, in 
the course of a rather negligent life, I have been 
useful ; that for once, by the casual exercise of a 
pen which has been in general but too unprofita- 
bly employed, I have awakened a chord of sym- 
pathy between the land of my fathers and the 
dear land which gave me birth. 

In the spirit of these sentiments I now take 
my farewell of the paternal soil. With anxious 
eye do I behold the clouds of doubt and difficulty 
that lower over it, and earnestly do I hope they 
may all clear up into serene and settled sunshine. 
In bidding this last adieu, my heart is filled with 
fond, yet melancholy emotions ; and still I linger, 
and still, like a child leaving the venerable abodes 
of his forefathers, I turn to breathe forth a filial 
benediction : " Peace be within thy walls, oh 
England ! and plenteousness within thy palaces ; 
for my brethren and my companions' sake I wiD 
now say, Peace be within thee ! " 



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